


Shadows of the Past by Candy Apple

by Candy_A



Series: These Two Hearts by Candy Apple [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Series, Song Lyrics, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-13
Updated: 1999-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A





	Shadows of the Past by Candy Apple

Shadows of the Past by Candy Apple  


Author's disclaimer: All characters who have appeared in the UPN-TV series, "The Sentinel" are the properties of UPN and Pet Fly Productions. All original characters belong to the author. No infringement on the rights held by any to "The Sentinel" characters, name or stories is intended. No money is changing hands or profit being made on this story.

Author's notes: If you haven't read "After All", I would strongly recommend reading it before you read this one. There's a lot of background in that story that is necessary for a lot of this one to make sense! "After All" is also available on my web page.Contains violence, references to past rape/abuse, h/c and considerable supernatural content which may be disturbing to readers who find such topics unsettling. There is also a death story involved in the plot, but it only affects original characters--none of the series characters. And I'm including the obligatory love name/ romance/smarm alert. :-)

Thank you to Emily Brunson and Virginia Call, my delightful beta-readers!

Song Lyrics, like the guys, are borrowed and not mine. :-)

SHADOWS OF THE PAST - part one  
by Candy Apple

Blair added his final comments to the last of a pile of essay exams and tossed it on the stack with a sigh. Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned. It was only ten in the morning, but he already felt like he'd been through a full day. Of course, if you counted being up until four the previous morning and returning to teach a class at eight, he had been. With Jim out on an all-night stakeout, and Blair seriously behind in getting a stack of term papers graded, the young professor had lost track of time and hadn't moved from his spot on the couch until Jim came in at four.

He smiled thinking back on how Jim had insisted he get a few hours sleep, after lovingly massaging the knots out of Blair's neck and back. Extricating himself from those big warm arms at seven had been nothing short of torture.

Mid-terms were over now, and he had the final set of grades in his grade book and on the sheet he'd post on the door for the students to check by their social security numbers. He'd made notes on which students he would make an effort to work with in the coming weeks. There were a few who showed promise but just needed a little push. Blair realized that by college, it wasn't really his duty to spoon-feed the students, but there was a part of him that just couldn't resist that one little extra effort that sometimes resulted in a borderline student passing the class.

He scanned the book and noted with some trepidation that there were three students on a fast track to failing. Two of them were on the football team. One of those was a star player. Blair slumped in his chair wearily, realizing the inevitable blow-off he'd get when he talked to the students, and the hassles he'd face when he turned in a failing grade for them at the end of the semester. He knew he had lost a lot of his ability to deal well with confrontations and their attendant unpleasantness since his relationship with Vince. Jim had somehow learned to peacefully coexist with Blair without engaging him in yelling matches or snapping at him or slamming things around, even when he was angry. There was still a part of Blair that froze up in those situations, a conditioned fear response that he didn't seem able to totally control. Yet.

Reviewing the past nine months since Jim had shown up at Watson's door and rescued Blair, who was then in a critically injured state, Blair had to give himself credit for bouncing back pretty well. He was able to have a normal sexual relationship with Jim, even if there were a few positions and activities that still made him nervous, he was back to work and now an assistant professor. His dissertation was nearly finished and would be defended in May. The nightmares were infrequent to almost nonexistent now.

Jim deserved a lot of credit for Blair's recovery. There weren't too many people who could have put the pieces back together with as much love and patience as Jim had. Blair fingered the small pendant around his neck, his half of their coin. The shattered, underweight, badly injured ghost of Blair that Jim rescued had required a great deal of love and a lot of hard work. Jim had been able to view that gaunt, terrified creature who screamed half the night with nightmares, needed help for almost every personal need and even ended up wetting the bed a time or two, with all the love in the world. He met outbursts with love and tolerance, and when he had to, he'd destroyed the videotapes that would have humiliated Blair beyond description in a trial, and laid a trap for Watson that had ultimately led to the monster's death.

That wasn't even mentioning the fact that Jim had stood by Blair very publicly, even being willing to admit the nature of their relationship to his colleagues and friends. They'd lost a few "friends" over it, but the ones that mattered handled it just fine.

The ringing phone startled Blair out of his thoughts. He grabbed it on the second ring.

"Blair Sandburg," he said, a bit deadpan. He was in no mood to be wheedled for an early verdict on exam grades.

"Um, yeah, I want to sign up for your independent study course in advanced sex education," a slightly hushed male voice responded. With a little smile, Blair replied.

"That requires a private interview to determine if you have the prerequisites." He waited for the response.

"What if I give the professor a bath and then tongue-fuck him 'til he passes out?"

"That's generally good for an A," Blair replied, laughing and blushing a little.

"Hey, I found another house for us to look at, sweetheart," Jim said in his normal tone. "Sounds pretty good. It's just outside town, with a couple acres of land around it, partially wooded. It's an old place, built in the 1880's."

"Sounds great. You want to set up a time to look or drive by it first?"

"Could you slip out for lunch? We could grab a burger and take a ride out there."

"I'm done grading mid-terms, so after I tape the grades on the door, I'm free."

"Pick you up around noon?"

"Cool. Pick me up at the bookstore, huh?"

"Sure thing, baby. See you then." The connection was broken, and Blair finally hung up the phone, grinning like an idiot. A lunch invitation that started with an obscene phone call usually meant burgers and then making out in the truck before they went their separate ways again. With a decided bounce in his step, Blair taped his grades to the door, grabbed his coat and backpack and headed for the bookstore.

Jim bolted for the elevator the moment the clock struck eleven-fifty. It didn't seem to matter how long he was with Blair. He never reached the point where he didn't hate leaving him and wait like a lovesick teenager to see him again. Hopefully, if Blair wasn't busy, he could drag him back to headquarters for the balance of the day. There was nothing there but paperwork at the moment, but it would be nice to do it sharing cramped desk quarters with Blair.

Passing Vine Court on his way to Rainier, Jim shuddered. He remembered only too well turning at that corner and going to the four-unit house where Blair was living with a man who was brutally abusing him. It still mystified Jim how anyone could intentionally hurt Blair, or derive any pleasure from inflicting pain on him. Blair's gentleness and thoughtfulness seemed to make the scenario even more absurd in his mind. Watson was simply a sadist. That was the only explanation. And Blair, with his gentle nature and forgiving heart, was a perfect target.

There were scars that still refused to fade, Jim concluded as he headed toward the campus. Sure, there was the small pink scar from the surgery to remove Blair's ruptured spleen, and there were one or two scars on Blair's back from Watson's whip that only Jim or a microscope could find...tiny lines left from a couple of severe welts that broke the skin. But those weren't the scars that bothered Jim. It was Blair's inability to argue and his avoidance of confrontations that bothered Jim. Jim had never flown off the handle at Blair again once he saw that the younger man simply stood there and took it, almost physically shrinking back from Jim as if he were preparing for a beating, or at least a couple of well-placed smacks. Watson had effectively trained Blair to be submissive, and completely broken him of his inclination to voice a disagreement. Blair did all but respond to being yelled at with a "yes, sir". A far cry from the Blair that Jim had first met.

But maybe nine months was too short a time to expect miracles. Blair was healthy and physically comfortable, doing very well professionally, and functioning extremely well sexually. All of that was a lot of progress for someone who had been alternately beaten, raped and tortured by a sadistic lover over a period of six hellish months.

The object of Jim's affections came bouncing out of the bookstore, toting his backpack and a large plastic bag. //Oh, great. Sandburg and his credit card and ninety minutes unsupervised in a bookstore...//

"Hey, Jim!" Blair tossed his books in the truck and climbed in, leaning over with a big, sloppy kiss that totally disarmed Jim from questioning which credit card had been graced with these latest acquisitions.

"Bookstore get your stuff in?" Jim asked, pulling away from the curb and driving along the quiet street leading out of the campus.

"All but one. Man, I'm telling you, Elise can track anything on that computer of hers. She's incredible! I've been looking for this book for ages with no luck," he concluded happily, pulling a hefty soft cover book out of the bag and thumbing through it.

"Elise, huh?" Jim asked, trying to sound casual. There was a part of him that always froze a little when Blair met another attractive young woman--not that Blair was anything but totally faithful.

"She's a nineteen-year-old freshman, Jim. She's in one of my classes, and she's a student employee at the bookstore."

"Guess I'm not being real subtle here, huh?" Jim asked, smiling.

"As a freight train, man." Blair laughed a little. "It doesn't matter if she's a 26-year-old Ph.D. with watermelon breasts, you know that."

"You can be pretty gross sometimes, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" Blair retorted, rifling through his bag again.

"Smart ass." Jim snorted a little laugh.

"So you think this house looks like a good deal?"

"Well, it's been vacant a while, and it needs a little fixing up. According to the realtor, it's mostly painting and decorating--she said the structure is sound, the wiring and furnace have been updated--well, within the last twenty years, anyway. The property sounds nice."

"Sounds promising." Blair nodded and then fell silent to watch the passing scenery.

"Anything wrong, Chief?"

"I've got two jocks flunking my Anthro 100."

"Have you talked to them yet?"

"I have to do that after Spring Break." Blair sighed and shook his head. "Not that it'll do any good. They won't listen, and when I flunk them, I'll have the whole fucking bureaucracy on my back because one of them was the team's MVP last season."

"You have to do what you have to do. If they can't measure up, that's their problem."

"Yeah, well, try telling that to some guy who's got a foot and a hundred pounds on you."

"You want me to be around when you talk to them? That's not a problem."

"I have to make them take me seriously. If I have a bodyguard with me when I talk to them, I can kiss that goodbye."

"I don't have to be in the room to monitor the situation. You know that."

"I know."

"You let me know when this happens, Blair. I'll hang around nearby, and I won't interfere unless you use a signal word or phrase we agree on, okay?" Blair was silent, staring out the window. "Agreed?" Jim persisted.

"Agreed." Blair sighed again. "When am I gonna be okay with this, Jim?"

"With what, sweetheart?"

"Confrontations. Shit, just running into a guy that's a lot bigger than I am gives me the willies. I can't hide behind you the rest of my life."

"No, just for the rest of mine."

"I'm serious, Jim."

"I know. I'm not joking about it, baby. Really, I'm not. I understand what you're saying, but healing takes time. You're doing great." Jim shrugged. "Besides, when it comes to dealing with disgruntled students, it isn't dumb to have a little back up. There are so damn many nuts out there now that people can get their heads blown off for stealing a parking spot, let alone flunking somebody. If the situation were reversed, I'd want you to hang around and be my back up. That doesn't make you weak--it makes you prepared."

"I guess you're right. But that doesn't explain why it scares the hell out of me when I have to ride in an elevator with a member of the wrestling team. I mean, it's just...I don't know. I know Vince is dead, and it's over... I-I just can't get past that fear."

"I'm bigger than you are and you trust me."

"That's way different, Jim. Not only do I love you, but you rescued me--not once, but twice. How could I not trust you with my life?"

"The rest'll get better, Chief. Just hang in there. It's going to take a little time." Jim started paying sharper attention to his surroundings. "There it is," he announced, pointing to the sign and pulling off the road into a weather-beaten driveway that was at least four hundred feet long. Set against a backdrop of still-barren trees was a large, white, two-storey brick house with arched windows and a pair of tall, narrow double doors.

"The exterior looks great," Blair commented as they drove back in for a closer look. "I stand corrected. Needs paint."

"Yeah, I pretty much expected that from what the realtor said. It's got character, I'll say that for it," Jim said of the tall, square house.

"Nice setting. You'll need to buy a plow blade for the truck if we're ever gonna get out of here when it snows." Blair turned in the seat to take in the real length of the driveway. "Wow. That's a long one."

"Wanna get out and take a walk around? If the yard's halfway decent, I think we ought to take a look at it."

"Okay."

Both men got out of the truck and strolled around the perimeter of the house, thwarted in their attempts to peer in the first floor windows by tightly drawn drapes.

"Must've been a hell of a garden out here at one time," Jim stated, walking across the weedy ground to the edge of a mass of dried, tangled plants that surrounded a gazebo.

"We could put a deck where that old back porch is," Blair suggested, thrusting his hands down in his pockets to keep warm.

"Think we could do something with this mess out here?"

"We? Don't you mean me?" Blair grinned. "How about a vegetable and herb garden on one side and roses on the other?"

"What do you know about roses, Chief?"

"Uh, nothing. But Mrs. Halstead does. She could get me started, and I can study up on it. A house like this--with that gazebo and everything--just seems like it oughtta have a rose garden."

"That would look good out here. What would you think of a pool right over there?" Jim pointed to a clear spot of ground to the left of the garden area.

"Inground? Whoa, that would be great!"

"If it means I get to see you running around in wet trunks all summer, it's worth any price," Jim said, flopping an arm around Blair's shoulders.

"Gee, private as this is, we might not need the trunks at all, man." Blair's arm came up around Jim's waist as they walked back toward the truck. "So when do we get to see it?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I'll call the realtor this afternoon and set something up."

"Okay. But after that, I wanna spend some quality time alone with you when I don't have a mountain of crap to grade hanging over my head."

"I left a note for Simon asking for a couple days off during your break. Hopefully he'll be in a benevolent mood."

"Um, Jim, you know, this would be a good spot..." Blair raised an eyebrow as they got back in the truck.

"Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous," Blair responded in a decidedly sultry tone.

"I meant for food." Jim laughed a little.

"I can eat at home and you can eat something at your desk."

"Sounds great. I love groping a professor."

Jim turned up the heater in the truck as clothing was opened and pushed aside, exposing warm flesh to hungry lips and hands. The two men wrestled passionately, finally managing to get a portion of their bodies flesh-on-flesh, humping frantically until the friction overwhelmed them and Jim came with a hoarse shout, closely followed by Blair's outcry of his name and spurting of his completion.

"You get me so hot, baby," Jim breathed into Blair's ear, kissing and nipping at the lobe.

"Me too--I mean you too," Blair panted. "You know what I mean," he finished, laughing a little weakly.

"Love you, sweetheart," Jim cuddled his lover close a moment, then pulled back a little to look at Blair, his heart turning to jelly at the sight of the flushed face framed by hair that had let loose from the pony tail, glasses still miraculously in place.

"Love you too, lover. Felt real good to get close to you right now." Blair pulled Jim more tightly into his arms.

"You okay, baby?"

"Just having a shaky day. I don't know why."

"How about coming in to work with me, huh? I'd love to have you around, and you wouldn't have to kick around the loft alone all day." Jim felt the arms tighten around him.

"Sounds perfect."

"Just like you." Jim smiled and kissed the end of Blair's nose.

"How was lunch?" Simon asked, glancing at the clock that indicated Jim had been gone for an hour and a half. "On second thought, don't answer that," he added, noticing that Blair had turned about four progressive stages of red at the question. "Guess you really do need Monday and Tuesday off, huh?" he concluded with a laugh, tossing Jim's signed vacation request form on his desk. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim called after him.

"Four day weekend? All right!" Blair enthused quietly.

"Just you and me and no deadlines." Jim smiled as he pulled out a stack of folders. "Of course, that means I have to get caught up today..."

"Okay. Give me your notes," Blair said with mock irritation and a rolling of the eyes. He traded chairs with Jim to sit at the computer and start tapping out the written reports while Jim made some phone calls, filled out a few forms and generally cleaned up his desk.

Returning to the loft by six that evening, carrying Chinese take-outs, Jim headed upstairs to change while Blair sorted through the mail before dishing up the food.

Jim became immediately aware of the surge in Blair's pulse and respiration, and hastily pulling a sweatshirt over his head, hurried downstairs to see what was wrong.

Blair was standing in the middle of the living room floor, shaking like a leaf, holding what looked like a magazine or catalog, the manilla envelope in which it had been mailed lying at Blair's feet.

"Blair? What is it?" Jim asked gently as he approached him. As soon as he looked over Blair's shoulder, he understood his partner's reaction. Blair was holding a catalog of S&M toys, most likely the one Watson had forced him to order from on several occasions. "Come on, baby, you don't need this trash anymore," Jim reached over and tried to pull it out of Blair's hands, but the grip was firm.

"Vince...d-did th-this t-to me," he stammered, still staring at the cover. Jim turned his attention momentarily back to the catalog. A woman was bound in a horrible-looking contraption of chains and belts, gagged with a type of muzzle Jim recognized from a few of the raids he'd been on in Vice.

"Do you want to tell me about it, sweetheart?" Jim asked softly, no longer trying to pry the catalog out of Blair's grasp.

"I th-thought I w-was over this," Blair gasped in a strained voice.

"Come and sit on the couch with me, okay? We'll talk." He led Blair to the couch and settled him there, sitting next to him and sliding his arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

"S-sometimes, I...I'm so...ashamed of this." A lone tear started to roll down Blair's cheek. "I didn't want...you to know...what I...let him...do to me."

"You didn't let him do anything, sweetheart. We've talked about this before," Jim said gently, brushing the tear away.

"Sometimes I didn't fight him...sometimes, I-I let him..." Blair shuddered and then began to cry in earnest. "I'm sorry."

"Come here, baby. It's okay." Jim finally got the catalog out of Blair's hands and pulled the smaller body into his arms. "If you fought, he only got meaner, rougher. You didn't have any choices. Besides, he liked it better when you fought him. Those times you didn't give him the thrill of that struggle was a way of thwarting him from enjoying himself as much as he could have."

"You really...think that?"

"Yes, I really do, sweetheart." Jim squeezed his lover more tightly to him.

"There's something...else. You...deserve to...know," Blair managed through his tears. "B-but it's...so bad that you...aren't going to w-want me...anymore." Blair's arms tightened around Jim.

"You listen to me, Chief. Nothing you could tell me could make me stop loving you or wanting you. You'll always be my little guppy, no matter what. Got it?"

"Th-this is...d-different."

"Nothing Watson did to you makes you guilty of anything, baby. Nothing at all."

"Sometimes, when he...did things to me...I-I came." The statement was followed by a cloudburst of wracking sobs. Jim held his sobbing lover close and stroked his hair gently, starting a slow rocking motion. Blair hadn't mentioned this particular concern before, and Jim had just assumed that there were probably times that Blair's body did respond even when no other part of him wanted to. "I must've...liked it...he was right...I...wanted it." Jim closed his eyes against the pain in those words, resting his head against the top of Blair's. Knowing the hyperactive brain under all those soft curls wouldn't accept a simple cuddle and a few reassurances, Jim struggled to put a logical explanation into words.

"When you were with Vince, did you...jerk off much?" Jim hated to be so blunt, but he didn't know how else to get from point A to point B. Blair just shook his head.

"I didn't feel good most of the time. Sometimes I really...hurt down there. I didn't want to."

"See, the trouble is, Chief, the human body is just a big bundle of nerve endings and biological responses. Yours wasn't getting its sexual release anywhere else, so even when everything spiritual about you--your mind, heart, soul, whatever--screamed out against what was going on, your body just did what it had to do to survive. I've seen a lot of case reports on rape cases where the victim orgasms. It has nothing to do with enjoying it. It's just a physical thing. Aw, sweetheart, please don't feel so bad. You couldn't help it. And Watson was an asshole. I want you to forget anything he ever told you."

"You don't think...I'm...disgusting...for...you know..."

"Look at me." Jim struggled to get Blair out of the nest of his arms and took the flushed, tear streaked face in both hands. "He forced you. And sometimes even when your mind and spirit still fought him, your body was just...overloaded. That doesn't make you bad or dirty or disgusting. It just makes you human."

"But...sometimes...I feel so...wimpy...that he could...make me...so maybe...I did want it...on some level..."

"Blair, Watson was a little larger than I am and spent his high school, college and professional life wrestling--in other words, his whole career was about finding the right moves and holds to overpower and subdue other men who were his equal in size and training. Do you think I'm weak?"

"What? No!" Blair responded defensively.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Chief. I don't have any idea how a hand to hand combat encounter between Watson and me would have turned out." Jim paused. "When he got to me in the alley, it was because I was so focused on the loft and the entrances to the building that I didn't hear him coming, so he got the drop on me. But if it had been a fair fight...I mean, I have training to deal with those situations, and I'd be more of a match for him in height and weight and musculature, but I'm not a professional wrestler. There's no telling he couldn't have subdued me after a hell of a fight."

"Scares me how close you came...because of me."

"Because of Watson, baby. You didn't stab me. He did. Look, I've seen you in tight spots, when the odds were reasonable. You can hold your own just fine. That's why boxing and wrestling try to match up guys who are at least somewhere in the same category for weight and strength. Otherwise, there'd be no fight. Just one bigger guy pummeling one smaller guy. Put the smaller guy up against someone his own size or even a little bigger, and he can come out fine. Stack the deck against him, and he's done for. Even if the 'smaller guy' is 6'4" and weighs 275 pounds of pure muscle."

"You think I do okay in tight spots?" Blair asked, the first question that came out in something close to his normal voice. Jim smiled and stroked a wet cheek.

"You do just fine, Blair. You've got good strength in your arms and legs, and you know how to use your wits in a fight. You aren't a weakling, Chief. But the reality of life is that if you put someone up against an opponent who's way too large, and has professional training, there's no way that person can win. That would go for me, or for Simon, or for Watson himself. Someone else's strength isn't your weakness."

"I never thought of it that way, I guess."

"Then it's time you started." Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead. "So, do I get a Blair-hug now?" Jim watched, smiling as Blair chuckled a little, then threw himself at Jim, arms going tightly around the larger man's neck. "You're doing just great, Chief. It just takes some time to get over. Nobody's ever going to hurt you that way again." Jim rubbed up and down Blair's back in long, soothing strokes. "Next thing we're going to do is call the company that puts out that damned catalog and tell them to take you off their mailing list."

"You don't have any idea how...humiliated I was ordering from them. My name...I had to give my name and use my credit card. It was like...in a way...it was like getting raped."

"Okay. Let's fix it." Jim pulled away a bit, still keeping his arm around Blair, who settled against his side while Jim picked up the cordless phone on the coffee table. "Read me their 800-number." Blair did as instructed, then tossed the catalog aside as if it were on fire. He absorbed the warmth of Jim's body and allowed the steady thump of the other man's heart beneath his head to keep him calm.

"I'm calling to get a name off your mailing list," Jim began, then waited. "Blair Sandburg." Jim waited again, then nodded a little. "Yes, I'm aware orders have been placed in that name. However, they weren't placed with Mr. Sandburg's consent." Jim waited again, rolling his eyes a bit as Blair watched him intently. He was flabbergasted by this normally honest man's fluid lying ability. "Look, I'm not contesting the charges." Jim paused again. "This is Detective James Ellison of the Cascade Police Department. Now if this is going to be a problem, we can just as easily turn this into a police matter. And of course, that's going to put your company under a lot of tight scrutiny, so I would advise having all your records in order. You know, your age verifications for all your customers, the security measures you normally take to prevent credit card fraud, that kind of thing." Jim waited, smiling slightly. "Mr. Sandburg wants his name removed from your records. If the file can't be permanently removed from your computerized records, then a note needs to be made there that the charges were not made with Mr. Sandburg's consent, but that the matter should be considered closed." Jim smiled down at Blair's inquiring expression, and squeezed his shoulders. "Be sure his name is off the mailing list. If he receives any further communications from your company, it will be considered harassment. Is that clear?" Jim nodded, then a slight smile curved his mouth. "Thank you very much for your help." He broke the connection and laid the phone aside. "There."

"Man, and you think I'm a master at obfuscation." Blair laughed a little and happily snuggled into the two-armed hug he was getting now that the phone had been discarded.

"The charges were made without your consent. I just had to throw the fear of God into them a little to make sure they fixed the records. So now, officially, your name is clear, even in their records."

"I know it shouldn't matter so much--I mean, it's not like those people know me or anything. It just...does matter. Thanks, Jim." Blair buried his face against Jim's shoulder and held on tightly.

"You know what I'd like in return for that?"

"What?" Blair looked up, a little surprised.

"A big smile. One of those 10,000-watt, Sandburg-specials." He felt Blair chuckle a little, then raise his head to look up at Jim, happily complying with the request. "We're even." Jim kissed the end of Blair's nose. "I'd walk across burning coals for one of those."

"Man, and with your sense of touch, that's really saying something!"

"You do have a real smart mouth on you, don't you?" Jim kissed the full lips this time, lingering there a moment.

"I feel a lot better," Blair said quietly. "About lots of things."

"Good. You've got nothing to feel badly about, baby. Nothing at all." Jim pulled his lover back into his arms and just sat there a while, holding Blair and listening to the younger man's heart rate and breathing even out to a relaxed state. Then Blair's stomach growled.

"Maybe we oughtta stick the take out in the microwave, huh?" Blair asked, grinning against Jim's chest. He felt a gentle hand tangle in his hair and rub his scalp slowly.

"We can have dinner and maybe watch some TV, huh? Can you take a night off?" Jim was referring to the dissertation, which kept Blair tapping away at the computer long into the night on many occasions.

"Yeah. I thought I'd take our weekend off. Then I can work like a maniac Wednesday through Sunday."

"Wednesday through Saturday. I have Easter Sunday off, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I do now." Blair smiled, sighing contentedly.

"Why do you think today was such a rough day, baby? Was it flunking those jocks?"

"They haven't flunked yet, but they will. I guess I realized that I was afraid of the confrontation, and I just kept thinking more and more about why I was afraid--what had happened to make me that way. And then I saw the catalog and I just lost it. I really appreciate you calling them, man. I feel like the last tie is finally cut now."

"Don't mention it. Now let's go heat up some dinner, pop a movie in the VCR, and relax, huh?"

The evening passed pleasantly, watching an old movie with dinner, then sitting snuggled together on the couch through a series of sitcoms and a couple newsmagazine programs. By ten, they showered together and retired to bed, where each of them sat propped up to read a while. Jim was in the middle of a collection of Voltaire's stories while Blair was intently reading the latest copy of "National Geographic".

As the adventures of the story in front of him was holding less and less of his attention, Jim reflected on what a comfortable "married couple" he and Blair had become. They still might make out like teenagers in Jim's truck, or they might shower together without having sex or share a king-sized bed in their underwear and spend the time reading.

Jim also recognized that it was important for Blair to have some quiet time together that wasn't about sex. Not that Jim didn't want that too, but Blair had been deprived of all his choices and autonomy with Watson. The relationship had been void of warmth or friendship or emotional nurturing of any kind. These moments of asexual closeness and camaraderie were as vital in Blair's recovery as the cultivation of a healthy, normal, consensual sex life. Plus, there were plenty of times after a long day of work that just spending a lot of time close to Blair with no other big expectations attached suited Jim just fine.

"You look zoned, lover," Blair said with a little smile. He didn't really think Jim was zoned out, but he also knew him well enough to know he wasn't reading anymore.

"Guess my eyes are just tired," Jim responded, smiling.

"Which one are you reading?" Blair scooted over to look over Jim's shoulder. "I love 'Candide'," Blair commented when he saw the title. "Want me to read to you a while?"

"Sounds great," Jim responded, sliding down against his pillows and handing the book to Blair. "In case I doze off--"

"In case?" Blair slid his glasses partway down his nose and looked over them at Jim.

"Okay, since I will doze off. Goodnight, sweetheart. Love you," he said, pulling Blair down for a prolonged kiss.

"Love you too," Blair said as he rose again, smiling. "Now, where were you?"

"Right...there." Jim pointed to the start of the last paragraph he vaguely remembered seeing. Soon, the soothing tones of Blair's voice were surrounding him, lulling him into sleep.

Jim's last coherent thought was that it still left him dumbfounded that anyone could want to hurt someone as magically beautiful and wonderful as his Blair.

Bright sunshine was a rare thing in Cascade in mid-March, and both men considered themselves fortunate to have been graced with it on that brisk Saturday morning. They took another look around the outside of the house, waiting for the realtor to arrive.

By ten o'clock sharp, a late-model black Cadillac Seville pulled into the long drive, and came to a stop behind the truck. Jim and Blair heard the motor from where they stood discussing plans for the pool, and made their way around the front of the house.

"Mr. Ellison?" The agent was dressed in slacks and a wool tweed blazer over a turtleneck, and wore comfortable shoes for hiking around the property with her clients. A woman in her mid-forties, she was an attractive blonde with a pleasant smile.

"That's me," Jim responded, reaching out to shake her offered hand. "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg," he introduced, and the other two shook hands. He had come to use the word "partner" for Blair in every setting. It seemed most appropriate.

"Nice to meet you both. I'm Lauren Quinlan," she responded, then led the way toward the front door. "Nice setting, don't you think?"

"It's got possibilities," Jim replied, keeping his poker face intact. Blair followed the cue and stifled his inclination to rave about how gorgeous all these trees would look as they burst into life in the spring.

She mounted the four steps to the porch that stretched across the front of the house and approached the tall, narrow doors. Lace curtains covered the long windows that ended just above the knobs. She worked with the old lock a few moments before it relented and she was able to open the door.

"The staircase is fairly spectacular, I think you'll agree," she noted, flipping on a light switch that illuminated an impressive crystal chandelier which hung near an open staircase. The large structure was solid oak, and made a single turn with a landing, before rising to the upstairs hall, part of which was visible from the foot of the stairs. "Fortunately, the previous owners didn't feel the need to add paint--I've always liked original woodwork myself."

"Me too. Painting it--man, it's like covering up something historic," Blair responded, moving closer to the stairway.

"The living room is right this way, through the French doors."

"I didn't realize the house was still occupied," Jim said, noticing the furniture still in place.

"The owner is selling it furnished. It's been vacant a while. Apparently their new home is a completely different style, and these furnishings weren't appropriate."

"Is the whole house furnished?"

"For the most part. A couple of the bedrooms upstairs aren't." She moved to the long windows and pulled heavy velvet drapes back to hook them behind ornate brass hardware on the wall.

"You said the house needed some work...?" Jim probed. So far, it was picture perfect.

"The upstairs needs some refurbishing. The downstairs is in wonderful condition--most of the carpeting and window trimmings have been added within the last six months."

"How long were the last owners in the house?" Blair asked, beginning to sense that they hadn't been there long.

"Actually, only about eight months. I understand Mr. Sherman-one of the owners-had a job offer out of state."

"You've got a sheet with room sizes somewhere?" Jim asked.

"Right here," she responded, producing two copies from the manilla folder she was carrying.

"So there's one bedroom down and three up, right?" Jim assessed.

"Yes. And of course, there's the study on the first floor. It's a charming room. Right this way." She led them back through the living room and past the stairs to a oak panel door which she opened and stood aside. Blair wandered in first, mesmerized by the full wall of rich oak shelves, the fireplace, the wingback chairs and the large antique desk that held court over the whole room.

"How could they leave this desk?" Blair asked genuinely, running his hand reverently along the edge of it.

"It was too large and heavy for their new house, and they did have to move rather quickly."

"What do you think, Professor?" Jim asked, moving over to where Blair stood, resting a hand between his shoulders. Blair just looked up at him with pure, undistilled delight. Jim knew he'd been had. His only hope was that the real estate agent might not be perceptive enough to see that the larger man was wrapped firmly around the smaller man's little finger. "This would make a decent home office, huh?"

"You mean--I mean...you...if we moved in here...I could have this room just for that?"

"From the looks of the listing of rooms here, we've got a living room and four bedrooms. I think we can spare the 'study' to be used the way it's intended." Jim started to smile a little as Blair's eyes turned into saucers. Jim was a little surprised when Blair threw his arms around the larger man's neck and squeezed tightly.

"I love it! Thank you!"

Jim just laughed and hugged back. They'd be buying the house together, using both their incomes, but Blair was still grateful that Jim was willing to hand over this room with all its shelves and fireplace and character to be Blair's personal space. And there were times, after his experiences with Vince, that he was just plain stunned at being pampered and generally spoiled rotten, which Jim had a definite habit of doing.

"Well, I guess we ought to see the rest of it," Jim said, laughing a little as Blair stepped back, looking a bit sheepish for the outburst.

The rest of the tour was fairly uneventful. The large kitchen overlooked the back yard, and had been decorated in light shades of yellow and green. In this one room, the woodwork had been painted white, and actually looked nice that way. The dining room featured a full set of furniture, all very traditional and in keeping with the house's decor. There was a small bedroom at the back of the house, close to a full bathroom.

Upstairs, it was apparent that no major repairs were needed. Some fresh paint, new carpeting and new window treatments would put the house in perfect condition. Jim was marveling more and more at what they were being offered for the selling price. Everything inside him screamed that if it was too good to be true, it was just that. Something had to be wrong. The real estate agent, however, met every inquiry with copies of inspection reports, information on the dates of installation for new wiring and the new furnace, and a ready answer each time the owners' swift departure and motivation to sell the house, along with most of its furniture, was mentioned.

And how could he stand to take Blair's study away from him? //Shit, if the roof caves in the next week, we'll deal with it,// Jim concluded.

"I'll let you two have a few minutes to walk back through and talk," Lauren offered, smiling as she headed for the living room, leaving the two men in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

"Well?" Jim asked, smiling a little. Surprisingly, Blair hesitated a moment before answering.

"There's just one thing..."

"What?"

"Could we...in the study...could we put a TV or another desk or something in there?"

"We can do anything we want with it. Any special reason?"

"Yeah. I don't want to start spending all our evenings apart. I mean, at home, I do my work in the same room where you read or watch TV. If I use the study, I'm always going to be shut off in it by myself the way it is now. Does that sound too stupid?"

"Not at all." Jim slid an arm around Blair and kissed his forehead. "I can see myself flaked out in one of those wingback chairs reading. And we can stick a TV in there. Plus, just because you put your stuff in there and use the room doesn't mean you're going to have one ankle chained to the desk. You can still bring what you're working on wherever I am and camp out there. I don't want to split us up either. But there are some hours when I'm at the station that you're working at home, and that would be a hell of an office for it."

"I probably sound really ungrateful. I mean, it's the room with the most character in the whole house, and I'm still complaining."

"Blair, if this is going to be our home, we both need to tailor it to our needs."

"I really like this place."

"Me too, Chief. Think we should go for it?"

"Yeah. I think it's perfect!" Blair enthused.

Despite the low asking price for the house, Jim thought they should try a lower offer, just in case. Shockingly, the offer came back accepted unconditionally. It was then that Jim truly started getting nervous about their dream house. He knew he'd gone against a nagging little voice inside him as soon as he'd seen Blair's reaction to the study, but he honestly couldn't find anything wrong with the place.

Blair was in a good mood that Wednesday afternoon as the last of his students filed out of the lecture hall. The realtor felt it would take about three weeks for the paperwork to go through and the deal to close on the house. If all went well, they would be moving into their new home by the third or fourth week in April. A slight frown crossed his face when he thought of the timing in relation to finals, which would hit about the same time, but dismissed that thought and decided to stick with his original good mood.

"Sandburg. What the hell is this?" Mark Borden, one of the two football players who had flunked his mid-term, tossed the test paper on the podium, interrupting Blair from making a few notes in the margin of his lecture notes.

"Excuse me?" Blair's tone was not receptive and his irritation at the student's rude behavior came through loud and clear. Normally, Blair was tolerant, friendly and casual with his students, but behavior like this in an academic setting was the fastest way to incur all his "professorly" wrath.

"Where do you get off? I deserve better than an 'E' and you know it, man."

"First of all," Blair removed his glasses, tucking them in the pocket of his dark blue shirt, "it's not 'Sandburg' or 'man'. It's Professor Sandburg to you, unless I tell you differently. Secondly, I had to be creative to find 35 points out of 100 to give you on this...piece of work. And where I get off is that the last time I looked, I was doing the grading in this course, not you."

"Well, Professor Sandburg, you'd be real smart to rethink your grading curve."

"Is that a threat?" Blair challenged, sounding much braver than he felt when faced with this hulking student.

"Take it any way you want to. But I need a C in this class to stay on the team."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Blair responded calmly, handing the irate student his test paper, and gathering his own papers into a neat stack, laying the textbook on top of them.

"Glad to hear it," he replied, with great satisfaction.

"There will be one more small exam and the final before the end of the semester. All you have to do is study, show up regularly, write two B-quality exams, and complete the extra credit paper, and you should be all set. If you're having problems with the material in the text, or something I'm presenting in class isn't clear, I'll be glad to work with you individually."

"Maybe you don't realize who I am. It sounds like you don't understand me."

"Now you don't understand me. Your degree is not based on how many points you scored on the football field this season. It's based on how many points you score in the classroom. And that's my concern. Your grade in this class isn't beyond repair. All you have to do is a little work. Now the best I can offer you is individualized help and I will keep you updated on your average as the semester progresses so you can do what you need to get that C--or better. I think you're capable of more than a C, quite frankly."

"Good. Then give me a B. It'll off-set my Chemistry grade."

"I don't give you a grade. You earn it."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, man," Borden said menacingly, leaning on the sides of the podium and hovering over Blair. Unexpectedly, the smaller man raised the stack of notes with the heavy textbook on top of it and slammed it all down with a resounding boom on the lectern.

"And maybe you didn't hear me! Now get out of my face and get the hell out of my classroom! When you're ready to have this conversation like a rational adult, you come talk to me. Until then, you don't need to bother coming back to class at all!"

"You can't do that." The other man responded smugly.

"Watch me." Blair met the other pair of eyes with a fiery anger that seemed to forestall any further discussion of the matter.

"You haven't heard the end of this, Sandburg," he grumbled, heading toward the door.

"Neither have you," Blair retorted, his tone deceptively calm and even. As soon as the student was gone, he collapsed into the desk chair and ran a shaking hand over his pulled-back hair. Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Nice going, Chief." The familiar voice startled Blair out his daze.

"How long...?"

"I was going to wait for you in the truck, but I figured it was pretty late, and this is the last class letting out in this building, so I decided to come in and wait in the student lounge down the hall. Pretty impressive stuff, professor. You really kicked his ass." Jim smiled a little as he leaned against the door frame.

"Then why can't I stop shaking?" Blair held out his hands, both trembling visibly, even from across the room without sentinel eyesight.

"Because you just took on your first overgrown steroid-junkie since Watson. Only this time you won." Jim moved across the room and squatted by Blair's chair. "I'm really proud of you, Blair. You didn't back down from him at all." He took a hold of one shaky hand and squeezed it.

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

"No you're not, Chief." Jim reached his free hand around to Blair's back and rubbed it in slow, soothing circles. "Breathe. Come on, buddy. You're the breathing expert here." Jim smiled. "You need a mantra. Instead of 'I am...relaxed', how about 'I kicked...his ass'. Try it with me now," Jim chuckled as Blair started to shake with laughter. "Come on, I'm getting into this meditation stuff and you laugh at me. Now, 'I kicked...his ass'," Jim recited and Blair chimed in once before he trailed off with a laugh and stroked Jim's face quickly.

"Thanks. I needed that."

"See? Meditation's a wonderful thing." Jim straightened up and pulled Blair to his feet by the hand he still held. "Want me to carry your books, sweetheart?" Jim smiled good-naturedly while Blair tidied the large pile that had to travel back to his office. "Come on--load it up," he prodded, holding out one arm. Blair did as directed, and slid into his coat. He was pulled under a large protective arm as they walked out of the classroom.

"He's not going to let this go."

"You might be surprised. But just in case, I'm going to pick you up from any of your nighttime activities out here for a while--I mean I'm going to come in like this and get you. No use taking dumb chances."

"I love you, did I mention that lately?" Blair looked up at Jim.

"Not nearly often enough," Jim responded, planting a kiss on Blair's mouth as they made their way down the deserted hall to the stairs.

Jim requested a week's vacation to work on the inside of the house, and Blair planned to spend as many hours as his schedule would permit helping with the painting and clean-up work. Their hope was to bring the upstairs up to par with the first floor before moving into the house. They planned to use the loft as an investment property, and therefore had the flexibility to live in it until the second floor of their new home met with their approval.

Blair was glad to finally see the driveway in front of their new house that dreary Thursday afternoon. After two faculty meetings, a class, and office hours, the thought of papering the upstairs bathroom was sounding better by the minute.

He pulled the Volvo up behind Jim's truck and headed for the front door, regretting that he was there two hours later than he'd originally promised. //This is Jim, not Vince,// Blair told himself as he began to feel his muscles tensing up at facing his lover. He stood on the porch a moment, willing his heart beat and respiration to slow down, repeating the mantra, "This is Jim, not Vince." He almost jumped a foot when the front door opened.

"Blair? I thought I heard you out here, Chief." Jim stepped back while Blair entered.

"Sorry I'm late. I had those two faculty meetings after my class and then a student came in and she was upset because I gave her a 'D' on her paper and then the department head came in and he asked me if I could cover--"

"Sweetheart, slow down." Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders with an affectionate smile. "I didn't really notice the time. I've been busy."

"But I promised I'd be here two hours ago."

"Shit happens. You're here now, aren't you?" He watched while Blair nodded. "Did you think I was going to be pissed off at you? Is that what this is about?"

"You should be. I deserve it."

"Why? Were you out having burgers in the campus food court while I was working?" Jim asked with a faint smile.

"No! I told you I was--"

"Blair, baby, that was a joke, okay? Calm down." Jim pulled the smaller man into his arms. "Old responses die hard, don't they, Chief?"

"I used to get in trouble for being late," Blair said quietly.

"You know the worst thing I'll ever do if I'm pissed off at you is yell, don't you?" He slid a hand into Blair's hair and stroked it soothingly.

"I know. It's just...I can't help it sometimes."

"Six months of intense conditioning put those responses there, sweetheart. I know they take time to fade away. It's okay."

"I wish I could just forget it. Move on."

"You are moving on. It just takes time." Jim stood there holding his lover in silence for a few moments. "Come on, time to get your lazy butt in gear and do some wall papering."

"Lazy butt?!" Blair pulled back, eyes wide. "I guess you didn't listen to anything I said when I came in! I've been running all day--"

"Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. I left my violin upstairs," Jim quipped back as he headed for the stairs. It was bickering business as usual as the two men headed upstairs to work on the bathroom.

Jim showed off the two newly painted rooms that were the fruits of his day's work, and then led Blair to the ominous task of papering the bathroom.

"Aren't you warm?" Blair finally asked, pulling his sweater over his head about halfway through the job. Jim was still dressed in a turtleneck and an old heavy sweater he didn't mind spattering with paint and wallpaper glue, while Blair was now down to his t-shirt.

"Feels ice cold in here to me." Jim didn't seem to give much thought to the statement as he finished smoothing out another strip of the blue, linen-textured paper over the sink and under the medicine cabinet.

"Do you feel okay?" Blair pressed the back of his hand against Jim's forehead.

"I'm fine. Just don't make me fuck this up," he said a bit tersely as he finally committed to pressing the paper in place perfectly.

"Like you'd put wallpaper up crooked, Mr. Human Level," Blair retorted.

"It's been cold in here all day." Jim rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. "I'm bringing those old leather gloves tomorrow."

"Jim, it's not cold in here. It's probably 68 or 70 degrees."

"So the thermostat says. I'm calling Lauren tomorrow. There's something wrong with that damn furnace."

"I'm usually the one who hollers uncle for the cold first, and I'm warm. I'm serious, man. Something's wrong here."

"Maybe you're just nervous."

"About what? Cutting the wallpaper crooked?"

"I don't know. I feel fine, so let's drop it."

"Okay. Sorry, love."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Jim spared a second to kiss the top of Blair's head while he reached past him grab the little cutting tool. He carefully sliced away a tiny uneven edge of the paper where it met the back of the sink. "Perfect." He stepped back to survey their work. Blair joined him near the doorway to the large, square bathroom.

"Looks great, man. So what's left--just the last two bedrooms?"

"And the hall, Chief."

"Oh, yeah, that."

"Yeah, that. That one's yours, sweetheart."

"Hey, with all those doorways? That's so not fair, man," Blair followed Jim down said hall and the stairs.

"So far, I've painted two bedrooms, cleaned the kitchen--including a range that hasn't seen oven cleaner in a good five years-- ripped up old carpeting, dusted and polished the downstairs woodwork and hauled all the old shit out of the garage they saw fit to leave behind. What have you done?"

"I unpacked all that stuff we brought over, vacuumed all the carpeting and furniture downstairs, cleaned and painted the first floor bathroom and I haven't had this week off!" Blair responded, only mildly into the mood of really arguing.

"Okay, well, I figure the hall ought to about square it. I still have two bedrooms to do, and I have a feeling the professor is going to be busy most of tomorrow, too?"

"I have a morning class, and I canceled my office hours. I should be here by one o'clock."

"Good. You get the little bedroom then, to go with the hall."

"Slave driver," Blair grumbled, washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

"I might let you off the hook for that one bedroom in return for services rendered." Jim slid his arms around Blair from behind, leaning down to nibble at his lover's earlobe.

"Oh yeah? Will I like it better than painting?"

"You better," Jim replied, half snickering. "I was thinking we ought to test the mattress in the back bedroom."

"There aren't any sheets on it, man!" Blair laughed, partially from the suggestion and partially from the nimble fingers that were skimming his ticklish midsection as they raised his t-shirt.

"So we'll use a dropcloth." Jim surprised Blair by hoisting the smaller man into his arms and heading for the back bedroom.

"What about the dropcloth?"

"I'm prepared already." Jim deposited Blair on the top of the dropcloth-covered mattress. As he started to remove his sweater, Blair shed his t-shirt and stripped off his jeans, shoes, socks and boxers until he was waiting naked for Jim. The larger man pounced, covering Blair's body with his own. "God, I wanted you all day."

"You got me know, lover," Blair whispered against Jim's ear before tracing the shell with his tongue.

Jim gave up on words, showering Blair's body with gentle caresses and kisses. He found a nipple with his mouth and licked and nipped at it until it became a hard little pebble beneath his tongue. When he fastened his mouth on its mate, Blair was making the little moans and whimpers of pleasure that were always Jim's undoing. Strong thighs parted and closed around Jim, pulling his hardness closer to his partner's.

"Got anything?" Blair panted.

"On the nightstand, baby," Jim responded, reaching for the lube and flipping the cap. "Let me get you ready, sweetheart." Jim encouraged Blair gently to release the grip his legs had on the larger man, and to draw his knees up, exposing his center. Before using the lube, Jim peppered the underside of Blair's thighs with kisses, letting the sounds and scents of his lover fill his senses. He leaned in close and flicked his tongue over the little pucker, drawing a muttered plea from Blair, who was thrusting his hips to meet Jim's tongue. "It's coming, baby."

Preparing Blair was something Jim would never rush. He knew his lover was consciously working on his breathing, and actively trying to relax into this act. The sex between them had always been beautiful, and while Blair often was the one who asked for them to do it this way, he still had to pass a little barrier of fear each time.

"I'm coming inside, sweetheart. Nice and slow," Jim whispered, coating himself with the lubricant and then sliding slowly and steadily into the tight channel that relaxed and accepted him. When he was fully sheathed, he leaned down and took Blair in his arms.

"Move, lover...please..." Blair gasped as he fastened his arms loosely around Jim's neck, the last of his tension easing under the gentle hands that were stroking his sweat-dampened back. Jim started a gentle rocking motion that Blair picked up with his own hips, and soon they were moving together, filling their new home with the sounds of their passion. Blair reached his climax first, calling out Jim's name followed by a little outcry as he slumped bonelessly against the mattress. Feeling the spasms of Blair's internal muscles, Jim picked up speed with a few swift, firm strokes that led to his own completion.

"Love you, sweetheart," he mumbled against Blair's ear, then kissed it. "You feel so good...smell so good..." He carefully withdrew from his lover and lay back on the bed, bringing Blair with him, held tightly against his side under one strong arm.

"Guess we messed up your dropcloth," Blair said, grinning.

"This is perfect. I'll use this one tomorrow, and then I can focus on smelling you all day instead of the paint." He stroked Blair's back gently, his fingers unconsciously trailing over one of the invisible scars.

"How many of them are there?" Blair asked quietly.

"How many what, baby?" Jim found Blair's hand where it was resting on his chest and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it and holding it against his face.

"Whip marks."

"You don't have any scars, Blair. You know that."

"No visible scars. But I know you can find at least a couple of them, because when you're kissing my back, you always spend more time in a couple spots."

"I didn't know you were analyzing it that much, professor," Jim teased. "I must be doing something wrong."

"I'm serious, Jim. Does it gross you out? Or do you dial down your senses? Turn you on? What?"

"How in the hell could that turn me on?" Jim's words were angry, but he kept his voice even. He had made a vow to himself never to shout at Blair in anger. Nothing was worth the fear response that could still evoke.

"It turned Vince on." Blair shook his head. "I thought he was gonna kill me that night. For a long time after, I wished he had."

"Thank God he didn't, sweetheart. I wish it were possible to kill someone over and over again. There are so many ways I'd like to make that bastard suffer. What I'd do to him...it'd make the Black Dahlia murder look like a Scooby-Doo mystery."

"So how many are there? You didn't answer me."

"Probably because I didn't want to. Why think about that, baby? None of them are visible or discernible by a normal sense of touch."

"None? Sounds like more than two, man." Blair sat up with his back to Jim. "I wanna know. I want to know what you feel when you touch my back."

"I feel you. I feel love. I feel the softness of your skin, sometimes I feel your sweat if things are going well. Yeah, I might run into a line or two, but it doesn't gross me out. It's barely noticeable to me, and when I do find it, I remember how much you love me because you endured that to keep Watson from smearing my name at the PD. As if my reputation was anywhere near worth the price you paid. Come on, lie back, baby. It doesn't matter."

"It does to me." Blair didn't move, and soon, Jim sat up on the mattress and enfolded the smaller body in his arms.

"You really want to know?" Blair only nodded an answer. "Okay, Chief." He kissed the side of Blair's head and shifted a little so he was in a comfortable spot behind his lover. He began gently mapping the territory of Blair's back with his right hand, skimming the fingers just firmly enough over the skin to avoid tickling. "There's a tiny one here," Jim said, pausing on a shoulder blade. "And another tiny one here," he explained, tracing an invisible line somewhere in the middle of Blair's back. "I can't even see it. It's just a variation in the skin texture--microscopic variation." Jim felt a tremor pass through Blair's body. "Do you want me to go on, sweetheart?"

"Yes," Blair answered in a choked voice. "I need to know."

"There's only one more. The deepest one is right here," Jim said gently, touching the middle of Blair's right side and around his back. "The goddamned pervert had to have drawn blood," Jim ground out, tears stinging his eyes. Blair just nodded. "Do you want to tell me about it, baby?" A vehement shake of the head was his response. Jim dropped a kiss on Blair's shoulder and pulled his lover back against his chest, enfolding him in strong arms. Arms he wished he could have put around the Blair that had suffered that whipping almost a year earlier.

"None on my butt?" Blair asked in a small voice.

"None I've found. And believe me, I've done plenty of exploring." That brought a watery chuckle from Blair. "You could have a city street map of Cascade on your back and it wouldn't matter, sweetheart." Jim rocked them back and forth a little, feeling the slight vibration of quiet tears from Blair. "The son of a bitch is dead. He can't touch you now. You don't ever have to be afraid again. Please hear me, Chief. You don't have to be afraid. You're my treasure. I'd cut off my hand before I'd use it to hurt you."

"I'm sorry I brought all this up again."

"Shhhh. No apologies, sweetheart. I want you to talk to me."

"You used to get so mad. I thought you were going to explode sometimes."

"I still do get mad, baby. But the person who deserves that anger is dead. I don't ever want you to be afraid to talk to me. You can tell me anything...for that matter, you can do anything...and I won't ever hit you."

"I know that." Blair rubbed his hands over the big arms that criss-crossed his body. It felt so remarkably safe there against Jim. "Thanks for reminding me, though. It's just...I can't get out of the habit of being afraid when I screw up."

"You do know that 9 out of 10 times Watson hit you, it was for no reason other than to satisfy his own sadism, don't you?" Blair nodded and sighed a little, relaxing against Jim. "And the 10th time was unforgivable because even if you did something that pissed him off, he had no fucking right to hit you for it. You know that too, don't you? That no matter what you do, nobody has a right to hit you for it?"

"Sometimes...it's funny, but sometimes that's the hardest part. Remembering that I don't deserve to get swatted for screwing up. I mean, I'm getting to the point where I can pull myself back from the fear, remind myself that it's you, and that you won't treat me that way. But I still feel like you're doing me a favor when you don't backhand me for arguing with you or...or get rough with me to punish me for being late."

Jim closed his eyes against the pain those words carried. He kissed Blair's temple and nosed the curls there.

"You're doing me a favor by just being in my life, sweetheart. Every time I look at you...I wonder what I did to get so lucky. You're the one doing the favors here, Chief. Not me."

"Why do you love me so much?" Blair asked, cocking his head to the side so he could get a marginal glimpse of Jim's face. He smiled himself when Jim's face broke into a grin.

"You mean besides the fact that you're the most beautiful person I ever met--inside and out? I love your gentleness, I love your unselfishness, I love your intelligence, I love your smile, I love your laughter, I love your patience, I love the way you feel in my arms when you're sleeping after we make love, I love the way you smell, the way you taste...I love your loyalty, I love your...your uniqueness, I love the softness of your skin and those eyes that dig right into my soul, I love your hands. Do you know you have great hands?" Jim smiled as he picked one up and held it, stroking the fingers. "Strong, graceful, small but powerful, kind of like you. I love the way you cook and the way you make me laugh...and the way you fill every part of my heart until it overflows. And I love the way you look at me. No one's ever looked at me the way you do. I love that you trust me. I love it that you take me into all the secret places you won't take anyone else, and I love you for forcing your way into all of mine, even when I didn't think I wanted you to." Jim resumed his slight rocking motion when he felt Blair crying again. "Don't cry, baby. You've had so many tears. But you know what? I love those too, because they're yours. And because you're mine."

"It was worth...everything it took...to get here," Blair managed. Jim tightened his embrace. "I'd do it all again for just one night we could be together."

"We have a lifetime, sweetheart."

"I love you, mine."

"I love you too, my dearest little guppy." Jim smiled into Blair's hair. He felt Blair laugh a little. "Okay, so it isn't the most dignified love name in the world. You're still my little guppy, professor."

"Always will be," Blair sighed, allowing Jim to move them to lie down again, drawing up the corners of the dropcloth like a blanket. "Kind of like a big cloth burrito, isn't it?" Blair observed, surveying their "bedding".

"Go to sleep, Blair." Jim laughed a little and kissed Blair's forehead. "We'll catch a nap and then go get some dinner and go home for tonight, huh?"

"Feels pretty much like home right here." Blair snuggled against Jim and soon dozed off to sleep.

"It sure does, baby," Jim whispered softly, holding the warm body close to him.

Continued in part two.

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into five parts for easier loading.  
Shadows of the Past

by Candy Apple  
Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part one.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST - part two  
by Candy Apple

Blair arrived at the house a little before one o'clock the next day, bringing with him a few supplies Jim had asked him to pick up at the store. The weekend would probably see the end of the painting project, which left window trimmings and carpeting. Blair had the assignment of overseeing carpet layers the next week, as Jim would be heading back to work. Both of Blair's "flexible" days at the U had been appropriated for this project, but he didn't mind. He was anxious to see the end of the renovations so they could take up residence in the big house that was looking and feeling more and more like home everyday.

As he opened the front door, it was a draw who looked more startled: Jim, who was so intently focused on something as he slithered down the stairs with his gun drawn that he didn't hear Blair approaching, or Blair at seeing Jim carrying his weapon through the house.

"Jim--what's up, man?" Blair asked quietly.

"Goddamn footsteps again! Shit, I feel like I've been stuck in the middle of a bad horror movie all morning."

"I don't hear anything." Blair shrugged. Jim cocked his head and gave Blair an annoyed expression, as if to ask 'did you expect to?'

"Stay there." Jim motioned to Blair to stay put and followed the direction he had heard the elusive sound moving before Blair's arrival. Now, there was no sound, and a thorough search of the first floor and basement produced nothing.

"Jim? Anything?" Blair asked as the other man appeared, carrying the gun loosely in his hand, his posture relaxed.

"Nothing, Chief."

"Maybe it's just old house noises."

"Maybe I'm high on paint fumes." Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's lips quickly but completely. "But I doubt that. I've been using our dropcloth all morning." He grinned wickedly at Blair, whose face flushed all the way into his hairline before he smiled back. "I had better things to smell." He slid an arm around Blair's waist. "Eau de Blair." He fastened his mouth on Blair's neck, working on producing a healthy hickey.

"I thought you wanted me to paint." Blair groaned a little at the hot wetness against his neck.

"We could break in another dropcloth." Jim stuck his gun in the back of his belt and used both arms to pull Blair close, finished with one passion mark and working on a twin next to it.

"Oh, God, Jim, give me a break. I can't paint with a hard-on."

"Guess we better take care of you then," Jim responded huskily, slipping a hand between them to gently massage the growing bulge in Blair's jeans. "Wanna try out the mattress in the guest room upstairs? I have another dropcloth," he added, dragging little groans and whimpers out of Blair with the insistent massaging of the other man's overheating groin.

"Want you," he gasped, fastening his mouth to Jim's.

"What do you want, baby?" Jim goaded.

"Want to...ugh...ugh," Blair lost himself in the sensations of the steady rubbing of his cock and balls through his jeans. He started thrusting his hips in time with Jim's hand, but the larger man pulled back then.

"What do you want?" He slid his hands around to grasp two handfuls of Blair's rear end, kneading the cheeks through the denim.

"I want...to be...inside you," Blair panted.

"Upstairs," Jim breathed against Blair's ear, then grabbed the unsteady man by the hand and led him up to the bedroom, where he'd already tossed the dropcloth over the bed.

Clothing flew in all directions, and when the two men were nude, they fell together in a tangle of limbs on the mattress, hands and mouths everywhere at once. Jim rolled over and grabbed the lube from under the bed where he'd stashed it and handed it to Blair, who spooned up behind him and carefully prepared Jim's entrance, stretching and lubricating, even in their current frenzied state.

"Enough already. God, Blair, just fuck me!"

"Here it comes, lover," Blair warned, pressing against Jim's anus, then pushing himself inside with one long, fluid stroke. He rested there a moment, curled around Jim's back, waiting for the larger man to adjust to the intrusion.

"Give it to me, Chief. Come on." Jim made one backward thrust firmly against Blair, and it was the smaller man's undoing. With a strangled cry, he started pumping into Jim, their hips rocking together in a frantic rhythm while Blair regained the presence of mind to find Jim's hardness and stroke it firmly in time with their sex. Jim let out a wild moan when Blair found his prostate, and began massaging it relentlessly.

Jim's body spasmed, his internal muscles squeezing Blair's cock as he screamed his lover's name while Blair continued to milk him in time with their rhythm. Blair's climax followed quickly, with a few broken cries of pleasure before he stilled and breathed heavily against Jim's sweaty back. He waited a while for them both to calm down, then slid out of Jim and began lazily kissing the broad back.

"You should paint more often," Blair commented softly. "I think it makes you horny."

"It makes me horny? Last time I looked, I wasn't here by myself." Jim's tone was affectionately teasing.

"Oh, man, that was great," Blair gasped, winding his arms around Jim's middle.

"I can't reach you back there, sweetheart," Jim shifted positions and Blair released him until the larger man was facing him. Within moments, they were an entangled mass of clinging limbs and damp flesh.

"Still cold today?" Blair asked seriously.

"Not now." Jim chuckled a little and kissed the soft curls near his face.

"I meant before."

"It feels really cold in this house to me. I've got the furnace guy coming out here this afternoon to take a look at it. I'm wondering there's something in the duct work--it seems coldest in that second bedroom--the one we're using for the gym."

"Then we oughtta switch the gym with the guest room. If you're uncomfortable..."

"Then I'll have to not use the upstairs bathroom either, because that feels cold as hell too. Those two are the worst, though I can feel it a little in the hall and in the stairs--more like a draft."

"I really don't feel that at all, man. Actually, it's kind of stuffy in here."

"Probably because I keep turning up the heat."

"Yeah, you sure do," Blair retorted, stretching up for a long, lazy kiss. The doorbell and the sound of loud knocking made them both jump.

"Oh, shit," Jim groaned, hauling himself off the mattress and going to look out the front window.

"Furnace guy?" Blair had pulled himself into a sitting position now.

"Worse. Banks and Taggart. We look fucked over and smell like...well, fucked over."

"They know the score, Jim." Blair smiled a little as he got up and slid on his boxers, wrinkling his nose a bit and wiping at his damp groin with a corner of the dropcloth before pulling the waistband into place.

"That's fine, Chief, but I still don't like to advertise when I have sex."

"I'll go down and talk to them. You make yourself beautiful for the company, dear," Blair teased, zipping his jeans and buttoning his shirt. "And get rid of the dropcloth, and spray some of that bathroom spray in here."

"Bossy little fella, aren't you?" Jim smiled as he began following Blair's instructions.

"Jim?" Blair paused in the doorway, jumping a little at the next sharp knock from below.

"What?"

"You're naked."

"Oh, yeah, that..." Jim laughed a little and reached for his clothes and Blair hurried downstairs to greet their first guests.

"Simon, Joel, hey-ey, come on in," Blair stood back with his best happy face and let their two visitors in.

"Things were a little slow downtown, so we thought we'd come check out the mansion Ellison was bragging about," Joel explained. "Did we catch you at a bad time?" His eyes seemed to be attracted to Blair's hair. Upon reaching for it, Blair found it to be something of a tangled fuzzball on his head.

"Oh, no, not at all. Man, it was windy on campus today," Blair added, smoothing his hair with a nervous hand. As if on cue, Jim came bounding down the stairs, with one shirttail hanging out of his jeans.

"Still painting the upstairs, eh, Jim?" Simon asked, smiling knowingly.

"Yeah, I'll tell you, it's a job."

"Wears you right out, huh?" Joel added, exchanging a knowing look and grin with Simon.

"You guys want a tour?" Blair interjected, trying to motion to his shirttail while Simon and Taggart glanced away, taking in their surroundings. On cue, Jim stuffed his errant shirttail back into his jeans.

"I guess I had to stretch a little farther than I thought to reach that ceiling." Jim chuckled a bit tightly.

"This is quite a place," Joel commented, moving toward the staircase and admiring the woodwork.

"Let's cut the crap here," Simon cut in. "Are you two all done or should we leave?"

"Sir?" Jim asked in his best innocent tone.

"Don't 'sir' me, Ellison. Daryl was smoother than this the last time I caught him on the couch with his girlfriend." Simon was chortling a little now. "It's windy on campus?" He turned toward Blair and just shook his head, still grinning as he moved toward the living room. "And he's supposed to be the good liar in the pair?"

"I think you mean to say 'obfuscator', Simon," Blair corrected, grinning a little himself now. He was surprised to feel Jim's arms come around him from behind.

"Just breaking in the new house, gentlemen."

"So how many bedrooms are there?" Something about Joel's honest question struck Jim and Blair funny--as they had already "tested" two of them--and soon all four were laughing.

Jim and Blair led their guests on a tour of the house, ending up in the kitchen having coffee around the table. They were soon interrupted by the arrival of the service man from the heating and cooling business Jim had called. While Jim showed him to the furnace in the basement, explaining the problem, Simon shot a strange look at Blair.

"Are you sure he's all right? Feels pretty stuffy in here to me."

"He says he feels fine. Just that it feels cold in a few places upstairs. Must be drafts."

"Or ghosts," Joel said, laughing a little. "Cold spots."

"Oh, yeah, right," Simon shot back, shaking his head and drinking the last of his coffee.

"Joel's right, actually. Well, I don't mean I think we have ghosts. But they do sometimes manifest themselves as cold spots," Blair concurred, nodding.

"I hate to break up this little seance, but I have a meeting back at headquarters at three. Some of us have to work for a living," Simon quipped, standing up.

"If you don't think explaining the characteristics of the australopithecus to a bunch of brain-dead freshmen is work, I'll trade ya next Friday," Blair responded, laughing a little.

"No, thanks, Sandburg. You can have the wonderful world of academe all to yourself." Simon chuckled, then became more serious. "This is a really nice place you've got here."

"Thanks. We're pretty psyched about it."

"Sorry about our timing," Joel added as the two men headed down the porch steps.

"Well, it was either you guys or the furnace man. Maybe it was our timing that wasn't so hot," Blair responded, laughing.

Jim emerged from the basement, leaving the repairman to his inspection. Blair was rinsing coffee cups, staring out the kitchen window when Jim approached him from behind. He started and tossed the cup he was rinsing into the sink, where it shattered.

"Didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart," Jim apologized, drawing back from sliding his arms around Blair.

"Oh, man, I'm really sorry." Blair reached for the broken pieces, but Jim intercepted his lover's wet hands and wrapped a hand towel around them.

"Dry off. I'll take care of it. No big deal."

"We just bought those last week, and they were expensive."

"So? They're open stock. We'll pick up an extra." Jim carefully fished the shards out of the sink and tossed them in the trash. A quick tune-in to Blair's heart rate and respiration revealed both in a heightened state. "It's a cup, Chief. Not Armageddon." Jim reached up to touch Blair's hair and noticed the barely achieved stillness. Blair wanted to flinch away. "Accidents happen. It's okay." He completed the motion he'd begun and stroked Blair's hair gently.

"I flinched."

"I know. It's okay."

"Sometimes...nosebleeds are hard to stop."

"Blair? Sweetheart, look at me. Are you okay?" Jim was troubled by the incoherent statement, and the glassy look in Blair's eyes. Blair seemed to snap out of it then, and Jim assumed that Watson must have given Blair a bloody nose at some point for breaking something. "Tell you what." Jim picked up a cup off the counter and smashed it in the sink, making Blair jump a little. "Now we're even. And the earth is still turning." He pulled Blair into a hug.

"Love you," Blair whispered.

"Love you too, baby. More than all the expensive mugs in the world." Jim chuckled a little, and was relieved to feel Blair join him. "No more bloody noses, sweetheart."

"No more what?" Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim, confused.

"I...I just mean you don't have to be afraid anymore, Chief." Jim opted not to bring up Blair's past statement again. It was obviously something that was very deeply buried and had slipped out accidentally, and now Blair wasn't even aware of it. Bringing it up again would probably only upset him more.

"I'm working on it." Blair smiled, then looked back at the ruined cup in the sink. "Thanks."

"Just a cup. No big deal." Jim smiled easily as he cleaned up the second broken cup and disposed of it.

"Joel and Simon seemed to really like the house."

"Yeah," Jim said, laughing a little. Catching Blair's puzzled expression, he clarified, "I heard the meeting of the local chapter of Ghostbusters up here. Cold spots, huh?"

"Hey, that was Joel, not me."

"Joel brought it up, but you ran with it, Darwin. Now all we've got is a little problem with the furnace."

"What about the footsteps?"

"Sometimes, furnaces can make strange noises. Hell, it's an old house. Probably my imagination, the paint fumes and the house creaking."

"Okay, if you say so." Blair, sounding wholly unconvinced, headed for the front of the house and the stairs. Before he'd gotten so wonderfully side-tracked, he'd been on his way up to start painting.

He had no sooner begun the process of taping the woodwork when he heard elevated voices from the foot of the stairs. Climbing down off his ladder, Blair walked into the hall so he could hear what Jim and the agitated furnace man were saying.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Ellison, but there's nothing wrong with your furnace. The ducts are clear. There's a little dust in there, but that's pretty normal. I can clean all those out, but what's there isn't signficant enough to cause any change in the effectiveness of the heating system."

"Then how come I've got cold rooms upstairs, huh?"

"Are your registers open?" Blair cringed a little at that question, since suggesting to Jim something that simplistic and obvious when he had spent considerable time investigating the problem was the fastest way to make all the veins in his forehead pop with rage.

"Look, I don't need a service call to tell me to open my damned registers! They were never closed. The damned rooms upstairs are cold. Period. Something isn't working."

"Why don't you show me the rooms?" the man suggested reasonably.

"Fine. Right this way." Jim led the way upstairs, and Blair ducked back into the room where he was working. Jim was angry and involved enough that he probably didn't notice his lover hovering upstairs listening in on the argument.

"This is one of them," he announced, stopping in the doorway of the room where Blair was putting the protective tape on the woodwork before starting to paint. The service man walked into the room, located the register and proceeded to remove the covering plate with a tool, casting his light into the duct.

"To be honest, Mr. Ellison, it doesn't feel cold in here to me," the man concluded as he stared into the duct. Jim was already rubbing his hands together.

"How about it, Chief? Is it cold in here?" He shot an angry look toward Blair.

"Um...well, I, uh...yeah, I guess it's kinda chilly," Blair stammered, his eyes never moving from Jim's angry face. The larger man's expression changed to one of frustration, then a little self-deprecation.

"The truth, buddy." Jim kept the endearment neutral, but the warmth in his voice soothed Blair's nerves.

"Honestly?" Blair looked back and forth between Jim and the furnace man, who seemed puzzled why this was such a dramatic moment. "It feels fine in here to me. Same as the rest of the house." Blair shot out the response and then watched Jim intently.

"Okay, I give up. It's me then. Sorry to waste your time, Hal," Jim read the name off the man's jacket.

"Hey, no problem. Sometimes these old houses get drafts. I'd check the window casements, find out what kind of insulation you've got--things like that. Plus you could probably be catching a draft from the front door the way this room is positioned." The two men continued to talk over these possibilities as they descended the stairs, and Blair exhaled completely for the first time since Jim had asked the question, going back to covering the woodwork, muttering his "Jim not Vince" mantra and scolding himself for reacting like an oft-whipped dog when Jim asked him a question.

By the time he was filling the roller pan with paint, Jim returned to the room, and squatting down to the level where Blair was crouched to pour paint, kissed Blair's forehead.

"It's okay for you to disagree with me, sweetheart." He drew back and smiled. "But it's still cold in here to me," he added, straightening to stand. "I keep trying to figure out if I'm sick but I feel fine and I only notice the cold in this room, the bathroom and the little bedroom--and part of the hall and down the stairs."

"You know, Jim, maybe there is something you're picking up on that I can't. Can you dial it down?"

"Probably. I didn't want to because I figured if there was something wrong with our heating system, we should look into it. But if you don't feel it and the furnace is okay..." Jim trailed off with a shrug.

"The hall could just have a real subtle draft--I mean, maybe what he said was true--that we've got drafts--but maybe they're really minor so I don't feel them."

"Maybe."

"You don't sound convinced, man," Blair said, smiling a little as he soaked the roller in the rich, creamy-beige color that was destined for the walls of the soon-to-be gym. "We could put the gym in the guest room and make this one the guest room."

"Probably doesn't hurt for the gym to be a little brisk." Jim headed for the doorway. "You got things under control here, Chief?"

"Yeah. You going somewhere?"

"Well, I figured I'd get the dropcloth and lube out of the linen closet in the hall." He smiled as Blair laughed. "Then I thought I'd take a shower. You could do with one yourself." Jim tossed over his shoulder.

Blair looked from the paint pan to the well-sculpted back and rear end of his retreating lover, then back to the paint pan. He scrambled to his feet and followed Jim to the bathroom.

Jim and Blair moved into their new home the following week. Blair had been on hand to oversee the laying of carpeting during the early part of the week, and both men had hung new drapes and blinds in all the freshly painted and carpeted upstairs rooms.

The master bedroom, a large square room with a double-arched window overlooking the front yard and a single side window, was decorated in various soft shades of green. They added their own mattress to the existing antique bedroom set, which included a carved wood headboard and foot board, an oak dresser with a large oval mirror and a massive armoire it had taken Jim, Simon and Blair full strength to move away from the wall long enough to paint behind it. Blair had found a chaise lounge chair that bore a subtle leafy print on its upholstery to add to the room.

The rest of the carpeting upstairs was a medium tan plush, with most of the walls being a creamy beige.

The gym equipment was brought in the day before they officially moved in, with both Jim and Blair in enthusiastic attendance as the delivery men hoisted the various pieces up the stairs. Jim had been more than pleased at the thought of working out at home, and since Blair had gotten into the habit of a much lighter version of the routine Jim did, the thought of working out together in their own home was more than a little appealing.

The third upstairs bedroom was furnished as a guest room, and the downstairs bedroom was to be used as a TV room and den. Both men decided to leave the TV out of Blair's study, since Jim did plenty of reading anyway, and could still spend some time in there doing that while Blair was working.

The loft had a prospective tenant planning to move in three weeks later, a cop from the Missing Persons department. Both anxious to be done with the hassles of moving, Jim and Blair managed to clear the apartment of all personal effects on moving day.

"I've got a lot of mixed feelings about this place," Blair said quietly as he carried the last carton of his belongings to join the final stack by the door that was destined for the truck.

"We've had a lot of good times here, Chief," Jim said, hoping to keep things light. Blair had seemed more melancholy and haunted in the last few days than he had for months.

"I remember the day I packed and left here the last time... But I remember coming home from the hospital, and you taking care of me...us finding each other--finally," Blair said, smiling a little sadly. "I was such a mess." He hugged himself against an internal chill.

"I was so damned glad to have you back with me. In any form." Jim felt a shudder of his own. "There are still days I wonder how I could have let you walk out that door at all."

"Stopping me would have meant us becoming lovers right then. You weren't ready for that idea. That's not your fault, Jim."

"I should have just pushed past it. Gone for it. I already loved you. It was all the physical stuff I couldn't deal with."

"We'd have probably been a dysfunctional mess if you'd pushed something like that when you weren't ready for it." Blair looked around, sitting against the back of the couch. "I was so glad to see the inside of this place when you brought me home from the hospital. It was like finally making it to a safe place." Blair shrugged. "In a way, though, a new beginning is good. The house is just for us, with just our memories, and we picked it out together--as lovers, life partners."

"Are you feeling okay, Chief? You've seemed a little down the last few days." Jim moved over toward Blair, sliding an arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

"Maybe it's saying good-bye to the past...and then finding out that the past comes with me anyway." He leaned into the solid support of his lover. "I'm tired of him, Jim. I want him gone. I don't want to think about him anymore."

"I know, baby, I know." Jim coaxed Blair into his arms and rubbed his back in slow, lazy circles. "It's getting better, isn't it?" He felt Blair nod. The younger man wasn't crying, but he was clinging. "It's not just you, Chief. Thinking about him, I mean. I still think about what that bastard did to you, and I think about all the times he hurt you and that you were scared or in pain...I want to go back somehow and help that person you were then. I want to take that whip and wrap it around his throat and pull both ends so I can watch his fucking eyes pop."

"You saw that tape, didn't you?" Blair pulled away and looked up at Jim. "Before you destroyed the tapes, you watched some, didn't you?"

"I wanted to know that I had the right stuff. If the tapes I'd found in Watson's storage room weren't the ones, I had to know so I could look for the right ones. I found the tape of us together, then I found the tapes he made of...well, of the two of you together. I only saw a few seconds, but...it was enough to give me nightmares the rest of my life," Jim answered honestly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was no accusation in the question, just confusion. Honesty was a cornerstone of their relationship.

"You were so embarrassed about that whole aspect of the abuse, and after you'd had to describe so much of it during our session with the DA...I didn't want you to worry about it anymore. To feel self-conscious with me about it."

"Did you see the rest of the tape?"

"No."

"Good." Blair nodded a little and looked down. "He...tortured me, Jim."

"I hope that son of a bitch is burning in Hell." Jim pulled Blair tightly against him, resting his head against the top of Blair's.

"I don't know...if I can ever talk about...all the things he did that night. I was in bed for two days." Blair's voice was steady and calm, but his arms were like steel bands around Jim's middle. "I knew it was as bad as I thought, because even he was afraid to touch me for a couple days while I got over it. Mrs. Halstead took care of me while he was at work."

"She saw you like that and didn't report it?" Jim stood back from Blair, truly shocked that anyone could nurse someone recuperating from torture and not give them the ultimate help--intervention to save them from more of it.

"She was my friend. She did what I asked, because she knew if she pushed me about calling the cops, I'd just keep it to myself from then on and then I'd have nobody. I needed somebody real badly, and she knew that. I called her in the morning. I was a mess. I was crying and there was blood on the sheets and I was scared to death." Blair shuddered. Jim couldn't resist pulling his lover back into a firm embrace.

"She didn't do you any favors by listening to you about not calling the cops, Blair. That was insanity."

"It felt like a favor at the time. See, I wouldn't speak up when the cops did get there. And they couldn't strip me down and examine me against my will. So calling the cops didn't help. I didn't cooperate. Plus, every time the cops came, even if I played my part, Vince usually slapped me around when they left. Maybe because he thought I'd been spilling my guts to the neighbors and that's why they called. So calling the cops over my objections was no favor, man, believe me."

"I'm glad you told me, sweetheart." Jim took Blair's face in both hands. "Anytime you need to talk about it, I'm here. You know that."

"I know." Blair took a gentle hold of Jim's wrists, stroking them a little. "I'm glad you didn't watch that tape. It seems...less scary...like I have more power over it...since I'm the only living person who was there that night. I can keep it buried. I won't let it out of its box."

"I'm no therapist, baby, but is that a good idea?"

"I think...I think if the time is ever right for me to talk about it, I'll know. Right now, I feel like it would be falling into an...an abyss...a nightmare. I don't know if I could get back out of it." He ventured a look into Jim's eyes. "It's sick stuff, Jim. I don't want you to touch me or look at me and think about sick stuff."

"Oh, Blair." Jim pulled the other man into his arms, stroking his hair gently. "What am I gonna do with you?" he asked softly, though a little frustration came through in his voice. "I don't see 'sick stuff' when I look at you. What Watson did...it's no reflection on you, baby. You survived. That's what I see when I look at you. A survivor. Not to mention the love of my life." Jim let the silence reign for a few moments. "If you ever feel like you need to talk to someone, to a counselor, you know I'm behind you. I won't be mad if you can't tell me but decide that you need to tell someone."

"If I ever told anyone, it would only be you." Blair tightened his hold on Jim. "But right now, I want to move forward, not backwards. I don't know why I've felt so...well, it's been like I backslid or something. For a while there, I was feeling pretty good about things."

"You're always hardest on yourself, Chief. Maybe the stress of the semester, us house-hunting, trying to work cases with me in your spare time--maybe it's been an overload."

"I used to keep up a frantic schedule before... God, I don't want to think he took that away from me too."

"He didn't take it away, sweetheart. But maybe it's too much too fast. You taught before but this is your first semester as official faculty. You've got meetings, departmental stuff you didn't have before. You're still wrestling with finishing the dissertation and they've turned the heat up on you for that. You've got a couple of tense situations with your students you're worried about. Now we're moving--which is a big change, even if it's a good one. I think you're a little burned out, and that's normal. If I had your schedule, I'd be dead by now," Jim said with a laugh in his voice. He was relieved to hear Blair share it. "When people get tired, sometimes they get ornery. Sometimes they get weepy, and sometimes crap that shouldn't bother them, does. That's all it is."

"You think so?"

"I think so." Jim kissed Blair's hair and pulled back a little. "I also think I'd like to haul this stuff to our new home, take a shower together and fool around with you."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Blair replied, grinning.

By the time the last carton had been laboriously dragged into the house, both men collapsed on top of their bed, barely managing to join hands and lace fingers before a joint groan escaped them. That led to a little fatigue-induced laughter.

"Think we ought to rest a bit before the shower?" Blair suggested.

"Yeah, sounds good. I can't move anyway," Jim responded, chuckling a little. Blair made the supreme effort to flop himself over so he was snuggled in Jim's arms, and they dozed off to sleep. Neither man stirred until a pesky ray of morning sun bathed the bed with unwelcome light.

Blair yawned and stumbled his way downstairs to the kitchen to start coffee. Jim had stirred when he got up, but once rolled away from the sunlight, the older man had started snoring again. Blair figured the smell of coffee brewing and the sounds of the shower would get him moving.

What he saw in the kitchen made him smile. The coffee was just starting to brew, two cups were set next to the coffee maker, and the shade in the window over the sink, which had been drawn, was now up to let in the morning sun. Jim must have gotten up at some point during the night and set the timer on the coffee machine and gotten ready for morning. But why would he set the timer for an odd time like 10:20? Blair wrinkled his brow a little at that and moved closer to the machine, watching it do its work.

"'morning, Chief." Jim's voice made Blair jump a little.

"When did you start the coffee?" Blair asked, not even bothering with the amenities.

"When did I start the coffee? I didn't. I just got up." Jim yawned the last sentence and stretched, looking disgusted at himself and the clothes he'd been in since the previous day. "Time for a shower."

"Jim, I didn't start the coffee."

"Maybe you set the timer last night and forgot it."

"No, I didn't set the timer. I didn't even think about it last night. I didn't know we were going to sleep all night when we crashed out on the bed. I didn't set any timers."

"Maybe the wiring shorted out or something. Terrific." Jim moved over to examine the working coffee maker himself.

"And did the wiring put coffee in the basket and pour water in the top?"

"You didn't do that either?" Jim looked back at Blair, confused.

"No. If I had done all that, I would have turned the damn thing on and we wouldn't be having this retarded conversation," Blair snapped.

"Okay, okay. Just calm down, Chief." Jim exhaled. "There has to be a logical explanation for this. Someone has to have done this. Let's check the house. Come on upstairs with me while I grab my gun."

"They broke in and made coffee?!" Blair stared at him incredulously.

"A prank, maybe," Jim offered weakly.

"A prank my ass," Blair responded, shaking his head. "Something's going on here."

"I agree. Now come upstairs with me while I get the gun. I'm not leaving you down here in case someone is in the house. Of course now that we've argued about it, I imagine they're not hanging around."

"Did you hear anything?"

"No. Well, I heard you moving around."

"But nothing out of the ordinary?"

"No."

"So what garden-variety burglar do you know of who could break in, and make coffee, for whatever reason, and then leave without your hearing picking up on it?"

"Humor me, professor," Jim retorted, taking a hold of Blair's arm.

"Don't pull me where I don't wanna go, man," Blair responded, yanking his arm away and pinning Jim with an angry glare.

"I wasn't doing that, sweetheart. But I am losing my sense of humor with this."

"So am I supposed to be scared now?"

"Oh I get it. This is another experiment. Let's push Jim's buttons and see how long he goes before he smacks me. If that's what you're testing, Chief, you're going to be wasting a hell of a lot of time."

"I'm not doing that."

"Yes, Blair, you are. You've done it before. You pick these damn fights with me for no good reason and wait to see if you can piss me off enough to swat you. Do you need to reassure yourself with that or something? I mean, I'm trying to understand this concept. Do we not fight enough, so you make one up?"

"No! But I don't like you grabbing me," Blair replied defensively, holding his upper arm as if Jim had grasped it much more tightly than he actually had.

"I didn't grab you. I took a hold of your arm. That hardly qualifies as a manhandling grab." Jim shook his head. "Look, you stay here then, hold this," Jim yanked a drawer open and placed a large butcher knife in Blair's hands, "and I'll go get the gun, all right?" Blair nodded, and Jim shook his head, muttering something about it being Blair's time of the month as he stormed up the stairs.

When Jim returned with the gun, having made a thorough sweep of the house, Blair was still standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, holding the butcher knife, staring at it like he'd never seen it before.

"Jim, you gotta help me here, man," he said in a shaky voice.

"What's the matter, Chief?" Jim's voice was immediately gentle, earlier irritation forgotten. He moved toward Blair and took the knife out of his loose grip.

"I don't remember how I got that knife. Jim, I...I came down and found the coffee on, and then I know we talked a little, but I don't know how I got the knife!"

"I gave it to you, baby. Remember?" Jim tucked the gun in his belt and took a gentle hold of Blair's shoulders. "Think back, sweetheart. I wanted you to come upstairs with me to get the gun because I thought someone might be in the house, and you didn't want to come, so I gave you the knife."

"Why didn't I want to go with you?" Blair looked up at him, genuinely puzzled.

"I don't know, sweetheart. But you didn't, so I went without you."

"Oh, God, Jim...I don't remember any of that."

"Come over here and sit down." Jim led him to the kitchen table and deposited him in a chair, pulling another chair up so he sat across from Blair, their knees touching. "You were upset because I took a hold of your arm. I shouldn't have done that, but I really didn't think I grabbed you hard or anything. Let me take a look."

"Jim, I overreacted...I guess." Blair objected, but didn't pull away as Jim took a hold of his arm and pushed the sleeve of his baggy sweater up far enough to see for himself that he hadn't left any marks.

"Looks all clear." Jim planted a quick kiss on the questioned area and pulled Blair's sleeve back down his arm.

"I am so sorry I acted like such a jerk. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Maybe when I took a hold of your arm, you panicked. Maybe it even brought on a flashback, or upset you enough that you got confused. I don't know." Jim slumped back in his chair. "You're usually the one explaining things to me, Chief."

"Maybe I really am going crazy here, man. Maybe I made the coffee myself and don't even remember doing it..."

"Look, sit tight. I'm going to take a look around the basement, and check the doors and windows one more time to make sure nothing's been disturbed. Then we'll have some coffee and make some breakfast and try to figure this thing out."

"Okay," Blair agreed, sounding much calmer than he felt.

Jim returned a short time later reporting that there were no signs of forced entry, everything was still secure and no one was lurking in any places they shouldn't be.

The two men made a simple egg and toast breakfast, and sat down at the table with it. Blair pushed his eggs around with his fork and nibbled the corner of a piece of toast.

"Am I going to have to put some on a fork and make those little choo-choo noises, or are you going to eat that yourself?" Jim finally said, trying to get Blair to smile a little. It worked.

"You can feed me anytime, big guy. Don't know as I care much about eggs, though." Blair flexed his eyebrows.

"Don't tear yourself up about this coffee pot thing. Maybe one of us hit the timer button by mistake last night when we pushed it out of the way--remember when we set that carton of glasses on the cupboard?"

"Nice try, Jim. But how'd it get coffee and water in it?"

"Okay, so it's a mystery. It's not like you dress up like your mother and stab women in shower stalls or something. So you filled the coffee maker and set the timer and forgot it. Or I did. Big deal. It's hardly psychosis we're talking here."

"Well, I guess it's one of those things we just can't figure out." Blair took another drink of the infamous coffee.

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you, Chief." Jim looked up to meet Blair's inquisitive expression. "Remember the other day when the furnace guy was here, and you dropped the mug in the sink?"

"Yeah, and you tossed another one in for good measure," Blair retorted, grinning widely. Jim smiled back. It had been a mug well-spent.

"When you were upset about it, you said 'nosebleeds are hard to stop sometimes'. When I mentioned something about it a few minutes later, you didn't remember it."

"Oh, yeah, I remember you saying something about 'no more nosebleeds', and I thought it was a weird thing for you to say. But you mean I said something about nosebleeds first?"

"Yeah. I wondered if Watson gave you a bloody nose for breaking something, and you remembered that, or what it meant."

"No. Oddly enough, he didn't. I got a few bloody noses while I was with him, but not over that."

"You were still pretty unnerved when you broke it."

"I didn't say he didn't do anything when I broke something. Just not that. I only remember one incident--I knocked over a glass, with water in it, which managed to pretty much soak him and his food--we were at the table. The glass broke, and it was part of a set. He was pissed." Blair paused. "He grabbed my wrist and put a couple pieces of the broken glass in my hand and squeezed my hand shut." Blair stated it matter-of-factly, as if he'd just described the weather conditions. "But I don't know why I would have made the nosebleed comment." He took another drink of coffee.

"Which hand?" Jim asked softly, his voice noticeably strained. Blair looked up, surprised to see a hint of tears in the other man's eyes.

"This one," Blair responded, turning his left hand back and forth slightly. Jim scooped up the hand in question and turned it over, planting four little kisses in the palm, then holding it in both of his own larger hands.

"God, Blair, is there anything that bastard didn't do to you?" Jim drew the hand up to hold it against his face as tears slid out from under lids that drifted shut at the contact.

"Yeah. What you do for me all the time. He didn't love me." Blair managed to get his trapped hand free enough to flatten it against Jim's cheek, where the other man held it firmly. A thumb caught as much of the moisture on Jim's face as it could. "It's okay for you to feel bad too, love. I dump all this ugliness on you right along, and you listen to it, and hold me and make me feel better. But I know it eats you up inside. I can see that."

"I want you to talk to me," Jim responded, swallowing hard and using his free hand to wipe the side of his face Blair couldn't reach. He reluctantly lowered Blair's hand from being pressed against his cheek, and clasped the smaller hand in both of his. "I don't want you to worry how I'm going to react and not feel free to tell me anything you want to."

"Are there lines there too?" Blair asked, noticing that Jim was stroking the palm of the hand Watson had cut on the glass with his thumb.

"Yes. I thought they were just part of the pattern of your palm, but I thought there was something... They must have been pretty deep cuts." Jim held the hand palm up, open, and Blair knew he was getting a sentinel-scan. "I can see a couple of tiny lines. Lines that aren't part of your natural pattern. I never looked before." He closed up Blair's hand and held it tightly in both of his again.

"They bled quite a bit. You know how it is when you cut yourself on glass. Compared to everything else going on at the time, it was no big deal." Blair smiled a little. "I was so skinny then he could get my whole wrist in one hand and his thumb would overlap his fingers. He had big hands, too, but I was pretty thin. My hand had just totally healed up when you came and got me." Blair's smile widened. "Hey--let's get off the gloom and doom a while. We've got a ton of unpacking to do, and a whole Saturday ahead of us to get it done."

"Blair, was he ever good to you--even for a few minutes?"

"Yeah," Blair said with an ironic smile. "After he whipped me. The next night. He came home from work, and I was still in bed. He didn't yell at me for not getting up or not fixing dinner. He had to know Mrs. Halstead--or somebody had taken care of me, because the bed was changed, I was in a pair of her husband's old pajamas, of all things. That was kinda funny. Her husband had been dead about six or seven years, and she had these old silk pajamas of his. He was a big guy, but the pants had drawstrings, which just about went around me twice," Blair said, laughing. "I needed something soft and slippery that wouldn't hurt my back or my butt. So he knew she'd been there and he didn't bawl me out for that. He ended up fixing me some soup and feeding it to me. I said I didn't want to get up and sitting wasn't too comfortable, for a whole lot of reasons, so he brought it into the bedroom, and fed me. It was so weird..." Blair trailed off.

"That he was nice to you, you mean?"

"Well, yeah, that too." Blair shook his head, smiling a little sadly. "But in those few minutes, he was so damned...gentle with me. He fed me, talked to me about his day, and there was this look in his eyes...it was like for just a minute, I saw what Vince was underneath the monster that lived in his body all the time. And when he finished feeding me, my stomach went a little nuts and I threw up into the wastebasket. I think it was nerves. I figured he'd start in on me again, but it was like this...magic window. I started crying because everything hurt again after I threw up, and he sat there and stroked my hair, and he kept saying over and over again, 'I'm sorry, Blair, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry this time, I didn't mean to hurt you this bad'--over and over again like a chant. And the funny part is, I believed him. He really meant it. At least at that moment."

"How long did it last? This...'window'?"

"Not long. He slept on the couch those two nights, and he made me food both nights, but he never said anything else about being sorry. The third day, I got up because I had a test to proctor, but I still looked like hell. I wasn't moving very fast. Most people bought the story that I had a terrible bout of the flu."

"Then he started hitting you again?"

"Not for a while. And we didn't have sex for a couple weeks. I was always in fear of it, but he just didn't touch me that way during that time. The floodgates opened when I talked back to him for throwing out some of my stuff that I had left out on the table. He snapped, gave me a bloody nose and told me I needed to learn some manners. It all started up again." Blair looked past Jim for a moment, as if deep in thought. "But for those two nights, he was someone else."

"Yeah, someone who was afraid you'd call the cops."

"Maybe." Blair nodded. "But I think it was more than that. I had lots of chances to do that, and he never made nice with me any other time. It was like what he had done was bad enough that it cut through the monster and touched the man underneath."

"You keep speaking of the 'man' and the 'monster' like Watson was some kind of...of werewolf."

"Actually, that's a pretty good analogy. It was like I was getting a look at the human side. I believe something had to happen to make Vince the way he was. I don't think anyone's born that way. Someone had to hurt him so much that he had so much hate and anger inside that he couldn't overcome it. It overcame him. Except for those two nights. The man was horrified by what the monster had done."

"Your ability to cut him any slack never ceases to amaze me, Chief."

"Well, it's either that I'm cutting him slack or I'm still looking for an answer to why I was stupid enough to get tangled up with him at all." Blair stood up and gathered a few breakfast dishes, heading over to the sink. "At any rate, it's over, and he's dead, so I don't suppose it matters a hell of a lot now." Turning hot water on the dirty plates, Blair stared out at the sorry excuse for a backyard. "I'm going to invite Mrs. Halstead over sometime soon. I want her to look over the garden with me, give me some ideas. You mind?"

"No." Jim picked up the cups and joined Blair at the sink.

"You're still pissed at her because she didn't call the cops, aren't you?"

"You care about her. She was kind to you. That's what counts, Chief."

"I care how you feel."

"You want to know how I feel? I can't fathom anyone nurse-maiding someone who's been tortured and not helping them. There are times I wonder if she was just a lonely old woman who liked having someone to need her."

"That's an awful thing to say, man." Blair finished rinsing the plates and set them in the rack.

"Think about it. What you needed was for her to get you some help. She saw the marks all over you. Hell, she knows more about what that son of a bitch did to you than I do."

"Is that what bothers you? That she knows more? It's not a pretty story, Jim. And she only knew the outward signs. I didn't tell her anything either."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just feel...sick to my stomach every time I think that someone saw what he did to you, knew he was torturing you, listened to you screaming and didn't find a way to force you to get help."

"She wasn't big enough to just blast her way in like you did, Jim. She's an old lady who's all alone who risked her neck to come into Vince's home and take care of me practically under his nose. Look, if you don't want her here--"

"This is our home. If you want to invite her, you should do it. And I will be my usual charming self." Jim smiled slightly, and Blair caught his eye, and began to laugh a little.

"She'll swoon at your feet for sure, man."

Blair was settled on the couch, chest against the back of it, folded arms and chin resting on the back, watching out the living room window for Ellen Halstead's car to pull in the long driveway. //This must be what it's like to wait for a visit from Grandma,// Blair thought, laughing a little to himself at the picture this fully-grown man watching out the window like a five-year-old probably presented to the outside world.

Blair had missed seeing his old friend, but hadn't really felt ready to spend any length of time with her before now. The memories he feared that would evoke were ones he didn't want to revisit.

Jim wasn't back from the store yet. He had made a run into town to pick up groceries, including a couple of items Blair wanted to fix for the Sunday dinner he'd invited Mrs. Halstead to share with them. He knew Jim wasn't thrilled to lose a whole day of unpacking and settling to entertain a woman he had ambivalent feelings about in the first place, but as he usually did, he'd gone along with Blair's wishes.

The old blue Buick LeSabre made its way up the driveway, and Blair bounded from his spot on the couch and out the front door. As she stopped the car and got out of it, Ellen Halstead was laughing, obviously having seen Blair spot her from the window and then appear on the front porch in record time, literally bouncing where he stood. In a flash, he was down the steps and out to greet her.

"Blair, how are you dear?" she asked warmly, accepting happily the bear hug in which Blair enclosed her smaller frame.

"It's so good to see you." He held on for a moment and then stepped back. "I didn't realize how much I've missed you 'til right now."

"You look wonderful! This one's good to you, isn't he?"

"Treats me like royalty," Blair responded, smiling. "Come on in. I want to wait for Jim to get home to show you the whole house, but you've gotta see my study."

"You have a study now? Well, congratulations, Professor Sandburg," Ellen quipped, smiling as they walked arm and arm up to the house.

"It's the most amazing room in the house. And the first thing Jim thinks of when we're looking at the house is that it would be a good place for me to work."

"Oh, my goodness," Ellen said as she took in the impressive sight of the open oak staircase. "This is lovely, Blair."

"We're pretty excited about it. Come on, I want to show you the study."

"Is that the closet, dear?" She pointed to a small door in the foyer, and Blair turned an appropriate shade of pink.

"Oh, wow. I'm sorry. Let me get your coat." He took the coat from his guest and hung it in the entry closet. "Man, I guess I don't have this hosting thing down yet," he said apologetically, closing the door.

"I'd much rather have had that welcome than all the etiquette in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone waiting in the window for me like that since my son was a little boy." She referred to her only son, who had been killed in a car accident as a teenager many years earlier. "Now let me get a real look at you." She took both Blair's hands and stood back, spreading his arms. While he was still slender, there was a fullness and definition to his form that hadn't been there before, noticeable in the brown plaid shirt and jeans he was wearing. She released his hands and took a hold of his chin, turning his face side to side gently. "This one doesn't hit you, does he?" she asked bluntly.

"If you're looking for bruises, you're wasting your time. Jim handles me like fine china. There aren't any." He smiled proudly.

"You look so...healthy!" she exclaimed.

"You never knew me when I looked normal. I'm about twenty or twenty-five pounds heavier than I was the last time you saw me."

"You were such a skinny little thing," she said with great regret, patting Blair's face.

"Yeah, well, I'm not so skinny anymore. Matter of fact, if Jim's guilty of anything, it's feeding me too much pizza." Blair patted his still-flat stomach, and she laughed.

"Don't pay attention to anything Vince told you. You look good with a little meat on your bones."

"I know that now. Hey, come on in and sit down." He led her into the study, which was graced with a light glow of the early afternoon sun. The bookshelves were full already, and Blair had begun adding his trinkets to every gap between books on the shelves.

"What a charming room," she commented, sitting in one of the large wingback chairs while Blair occupied the other.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea...?"

"No, I'm fine," she responded, smiling. "Where is Jim?"

"He's at the store. We needed a couple things for dinner." Blair paused. "I'm sorry I fell out of touch for so long. I just...wasn't ready to face any part of my life before--even the good parts--before this."

"I can understand that. And you've kept in touch with me with your letters. Those were such beautiful photos you and Jim took on your vacation in New England. I just can't get over how well you look now, even compared to then."

"I feel good. I'm working out a little, everything's all healed up."

"How are you doing in here?" she asked, covering her heart with one hand.

"Better. I've got a few problems yet. Jim's really great about everything. He's patient."

The two old friends spent the next half hour visiting, reminiscing about more neutral neighborhood events both recalled, Blair encouraging Ellen to update him on all the latest news from Vine Court. By the time Jim arrived home, the conversation was light and relaxing.

"Mrs. Halstead, it's good to see you again," Jim said as he entered the room, crossing to where the older woman extended a hand to shake his.

"It's Ellen, to anyone who's making my Blair this happy," she commented, smiling. "It's good to see you again, too."

"Have you guys done the grand tour yet?" Jim moved to Blair's chair and sat on the arm, taking his lover's hand.

"Not yet. We were waiting for you," Blair responded.

"I guess we should get to it, then."

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly, with a dinner in the elegant dining room and light conversation. Vince Watson was conspicuous by his absence in their choice of topics. When Blair got up and hurried into the kitchen to answer the phone, Ellen seized the opportunity to draw Jim out. He had become more and more reserved during dinner, and she appeared to want an answer as to why.

"I have the feeling you have something on your mind, Jim," she said directly.

"Why?" He gave her a forced smile and refilled her coffee cup from the pot on the table.

"You aren't very pleased with me for some reason. I'd like to know why."

"I appreciate that you were there for Blair during a time I couldn't be, and that you took care of him when he was hurt badly. I guess it's just that you knew what Watson was doing to him--"

"And I didn't stop it? What would you have me do, Jim? When I called the police, Blair was afraid to cooperate with them. When they left, I had to listen to Vince beat him because they'd come at all."

"Beat him? We're not just talking a couple of swats here, I take it?"

"Sometimes that's all it was. Usually, it was worse."

"Blair said Vince only beat him up severely three or four times."

"You have to realize what the word 'severe' meant to Blair at the time he told you that. Severe meant he was unable to move for a couple of days. If he could get up and stagger away, it wasn't severe." She glanced nervously at the door between the kitchen and dining room, and then heard Blair's animated voice on the phone again, muffled through the door. "I soon realized that every time I called the police, Blair took a beating for it. I suppose that was Vince's way of training all the neighbors too. Well, it worked. I couldn't stand listening to it, or watching him come out of the house to go to his car in the morning, and see how slowly he was moving. So I stopped calling."

"That time...the really bad time--didn't you think of making him go to a hospital?"

"I tried. I can't carry him. Even as thin as he was then, he was still a man, and still larger than I could carry. He wouldn't go. So I did the most I could for him. If I had known about you--how to reach you--I would have called you then. But he had never told me your name.

Only that there was someone he loved and it didn't work out."

"Blair said Watson tortured him. How could the neighbors not hear that?"

"He was gagged," she responded simply, taking a sip of her coffee. "It was an ugly contraption. Blair showed it to me. It reminded me of a dog muzzle." She shuddered and set the cup back down on the table. She noticed that Jim's eyes were closed, and he was taking in and expelling a prolonged breath.

"I have to keep reminding myself Watson's dead." Jim reached for his own coffee with a slightly shaky hand. "I wish it were possible to kill him again."

"I thought about poisoning him," she said calmly. Jim choked slightly on his coffee and setting it back down, stared at her. "I even bought the powdered diazanon. I had seen a program on TV about a woman who killed her husband by lacing his thermos of coffee with diazanon--the stuff you use to kill pests in the garden?" She watched as Jim nodded. "The only reason I didn't do it was that I was afraid he'd get sick and it wouldn't work, and he might blame Blair for cooking something bad and beat him for it--or, God forbid, Blair might end up eating some of it. I couldn't be sure enough how much to use."

"I have to say I'm surprised," Jim said, shaking his head a little.

"Are you? I didn't have the physical strength to challenge Vince, and I couldn't convince Blair to leave him. I had to listen to most of what went on in that apartment. Does is still surprise you I wanted Vince dead?" She paused, then smiled slightly. It was a tired smile, in which all of her 76 years seemed evident. "I'm a very old woman, Jim. At best, I might live another five or six years, realistically. Blair is barely 30 years old. He has his whole life ahead of him, unless some animal like Vince snuffs it out. If I had to spend those years in prison, they would have been well-spent if I accomplished what I set out to do." She smiled slightly. "Am I under arrest?"

"No," Jim responded, chuckling a little. "No harm, no foul," Jim concluded.

"Even if I made the cheese danish with a little extra oomph?"

"You actually made the stuff?" Jim asked, wide-eyed.

"I know Blair hates cheese danish. He told me one time, because Vince always wanted him to buy that at the bakery, and Blair wrinkled his nose at it every time and used to go on and on about how much cholesterol was in it and how horrible and mushy it tasted. So I made some cheese danish, and figured I'd take it to Vince after Blair left for the campus. I heard the beating Blair took that night, so I consoled myself by baking while it was going on. But you showed up the next morning, before I could go next door with my 'treat' for the bastard."

"You guys ready for dessert?" Blair stuck his head around the edge of the swinging door.

"I'll give you a hand." Jim rose from his chair. "Excuse me." He smiled toward Mrs. Halstead and joined Blair in the kitchen.

"I can get this Jim. It's just the cake," Blair said, heading toward the plate that bore the banana cake he'd asked Jim to pick up at the store. He was surprised to be turned around and pulled into a tight embrace. "Is everything okay?" he finally asked, returning the pressure. "Ellen telling you horror stories?" he probed in an annoyed tone.

"I just needed this right now." He slid his hand into Blair's hair and pressed the smaller man's head against his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too, mine. More than anything. But what's this about, man?"

"I guess it's for all the times I wish I could have held you and comforted you and been there for you."

"Ellen has a big mouth, apparently."

"Why didn't you tell me how bad it really was, baby?"

"Another time, Jim. Not now." Blair pulled back assertively. "I can't do this now. I might not ever be able to tell you more than I have. But I sure as hell can't do it with a dinner guest in the dining room. Please go back in there and keep her company while I get dessert. Okay?"

"Okay." Jim kissed his lover's forehead and returned to the dining room as instructed.

The rest of Ellen Halstead's visit was uneventful, and by late afternoon, she took her leave. As soon as Blair closed the front door, he turned to Jim, who was making a futile attempt at retreating upstairs.

"What did she tell you that freaked you out, Jim?"

"I don't want to upset you, Chief."

"Upset me? I lived it, man. I know what happened. I just want to know what she said to you."

"That Watson used to beat you after the police left. Worse than what you told me."

"Worse how? I didn't give you blow-by-blows before."

"You acted like he swatted you once or twice. It sounds a hell of a lot worse than that."

"Well, life with Vince was a matter of degrees. If I wasn't bleeding and I could walk, it wasn't too bad." Blair's matter-of-fact tone surprised Jim a little. "Look, all the gory details do is piss you off at someone you can't go after anyway. It's counterproductive. Negative energy, man. Let it go." Blair made his way back toward the kitchen and Jim followed him. The younger man began the task of washing dinner dishes.

"I couldn't get over how alone you must have felt, and I guess that's why I had to hold you right then. For all the times I didn't when it mattered."

"Damn it, Jim, it always matters! You talk about me feeling dirty or guilty about something Vince did to me. It's no more ridiculous than you beating yourself up all the time because I hooked up with an asshole after I left you. That was all my doing, brain surgeon that I am. You couldn't help that. And you couldn't help me because you didn't know where I was or who I was with."

"I should have kept better track of you."

"Why?"

"Because maybe I could have stopped this from happening."

"And if you hadn't gotten what was left of me back in a bloody heap, we might have never ended up together this way. We might have been friends for the rest of time--platonic friends. And quite frankly, Jim, that was killing me. Getting my ass kicked by Vince was less painful than that. At least it didn't tear my heart out."

"I knew I loved you."

"But NOT THAT WAY! God, I'll never forget those words coming out of your mouth. 'You know I love you, Chief. Just NOT THAT WAY.' I wanted you to love me THAT WAY. And if spending six months with Vince was what it took to get there, so be it." Blair wiped his hands on a dishtowel and leaned against the edge of the sink. "You started falling in love with me because I almost died."

"That's not true, Blair. Maybe I needed a wake up call, but I--"

"So Vince was the wake-up call. You knew how you felt about somebody beating on me, and you knew how you felt when I was hemorrhaging internally and you thought I was going to die. That pushed you past your barriers."

"You think I would have never fallen in love with you any other way?"

"I lived with you for almost four years, man. And when I walked out, you still didn't love me THAT WAY. So no, I don't think you would have. I think I'd still be living with Vince if he hadn't been such a violent bastard, and you'd be married or still doing your lone wolf routine."

"Blair, dammit, I love you. I would have realized that, dealt with it, somehow. Eventually." Jim slid his arms around Blair from behind. "Yes, your brush with death moved me along faster, but that doesn't change how much I loved you then, or how much I love you now."

"I know. I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk. I guess seeing Ellen again upset me more than I thought it would. I love her like a grandmother, but I don't know if I ever want to see her again."

"It's okay, baby."

"No, Jim, it's not okay. I get upset about this stuff and then I take it out on you. I never have thought any of this was your fault. And I'm standing here trying to hang the blame on you. I don't know why you even put up with me."

"You know the answer to that one, professor." Jim smiled against Blair's hair, tightening his hold a little. "It's pretty normal for you to be a little pissed off once in a while. Along with all the other shit, there has to be some anger in there somewhere."

"Oh, you mean just because I'd like to beat Vince's ass with a 2x4 but then realize I can't because he's dead?" Blair snorted a little laugh. "It's not fair for me to beat up on you verbally when I feel that way."

"None of this is fair, sweetheart. We just have to get through it the best we can."

"I just hope that you won't get sick of me and my moods." Blair took a deep breath. "I couldn't stand it if I lost you, mine."

"Listen to what you just said, baby. I am yours. I'm not going anywhere. I know we can't have the same last name and all the paperwork, but this is forever, Blair. I'll never leave you." Jim loosened his grip to turn Blair in his arms so they could share a tight embrace. "Besides, we have a mortgage together now," Jim quipped, smiling. He felt a little rumble of laughter from Blair.

Continued in part three.  
Due to the length of this story, it's been split into five parts for easier loading.  
Shadows of the Past

by Candy Apple  
Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part two.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST - part three  
by Candy Apple

Blair watched the shadow of bare branches in the moonlight as it danced and swayed on the wall of the bedroom. Jim was sound asleep, spooned up behind him. They hadn't made love that night. Part of Blair wanted to, almost needed to, but another part was so twisted up with memories that had been dredged up by Ellen Halstead's visit that he feared mixing the two. He never wanted to associate their lovemaking with flashbacks of Watson, and they were abounding at the moment.

His unease obviously wasn't severe enough to wake his sleeping lover. Jim was capable of deep sleep, despite his heightened senses. Blair knew the other man would be alert, attentive and loving at the first sound of distress from Blair, even if it was just a request to talk. Still, there was no point in both of them lying there watching the shadows.

The unpacking was mostly done now, thanks to a marathon session of hauling storage items to the attic, putting books and accessories on shelves and stocking the kitchen cupboards with their dishes, pans and other supplies. It had been a full several hours, and Jim was tired. Blair was also tired, just unable to shut his mind down for the night.

He smiled when he thought of the endearment Jim had used before they settled down for the night. Jim had called him "angel". Very softly, he'd said, "Sleep well, angel. I love you." Blair closed his eyes, feeling the sting of tears behind closed lids. He struggled to remember Vince ever using any endearments at all with him, even when they had sex. It was "Blair" if things were going well, and from there, could be anything from "you"--as in "hey, you"--to "bitch", depending on the situation. The things Vince had called him during the torture session that haunted Blair's nightmares made his blood run cold.

A series of loud, crashing noises made Blair sit bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding. Jim was up an instant later, sitting next to him.

"What is it, sweetheart? Nightmare?" Jim asked softly.

"No. I was awake. It was a noise--lots of noise. Crashing noises." He turned to look at Jim, his face partially obscured in the shadows of the room. He could see a skepticism in the older man's face. After all, if Jim didn't hear it, it most likely didn't exist. Jim spared him the challenge of voicing that opinion and swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up and investigate.

"Okay. I'll check it out."

"We both will," Blair responded, swinging his legs over his side of the bed as Jim got up and retrieved his gun.

"Stay behind me, Chief."

"No problem, man," he answered, hovering so close to Jim's back that he ran into him as soon as the larger man slowed his pace upon entering the hallway.

"Not that close," Jim said, momentarily relaxing his tense stance and looking back at Blair.

"Sorry."

The hall was dark and silent, but Jim moved through it easily, guided by his flawless night vision. Blair, on the other hand, slammed into Jim twice, unable to see where he was going. Finally, Jim's left hand reached back and took a firm grip on Blair's right, leading him through the dark.

"Where do you think it came from?"

"It sounded like it came from near the staircase," Blair whispered back.

"There's no one else in the house," Jim said calmly, flipping on the light in the hall. "No heartbeats, no odd noises, nothing." Jim smiled at their still-joined hands, and kissed Blair's before releasing it. "I'll make a quick check of things downstairs, but there's nobody here who shouldn't be."

"But I know what I heard. Jim, it had to be something."

"Maybe the pipes or the furnace? But if it was that, I should have heard it before you did."

"No. It was a crashing and banging sound, and it came from right here somewhere," Blair explained, moving toward the staircase. "Are you sure you didn't doze off for a moment and then imagine it--kind of like the dream people have about falling?"

"I was wide awake, man. I heard it."

"Okay. Let's have a look around." Jim started downstairs, carrying the gun limply at his side, flipping on lights as they went. As he had assessed from the upstairs hall, nothing was out of order.

"I know I heard something," Blair muttered as he climbed back into bed. Jim didn't say anything at the moment, stashing his gun in the night stand again and sliding under the covers. "I know what I heard." Blair was still sitting up, shivering a little from the cool air in the room chilling his now-dormant body.

"I want to know why you were awake, sweetheart. Come on, lie down and cover up." Blair did as instructed, but still didn't scoot into Jim's arms like he usually did. The larger man leaned up on one elbow and stroked Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Watson?" He watched as Blair nodded slightly. "You want to talk about it?"

"It's...that night. What he did. I just keep...thinking about it. Must be after seeing Ellen, it's just...back." Blair smiled a little. "He never called me anything special like you do. He either used my name, or nothing. Or something really...bad." Blair paused, leaning into the caress of Jim's hand.

"I think I'm still looking for one that says enough." Jim smiled down at his lover's troubled face. "Some of them are just too sappy. You'd probably hate them."

"Would you...hold me and tell me the sappy ones?" Blair asked hesitantly, looking up at Jim with big blue eyes that were dependably the larger man's undoing every time.

"Okay. But remember, you asked, Chief." Jim smiled as he gathered Blair into his arms, kissing the silky curls that came to rest under his chin. "I slipped and called you 'angel' already--"

"I liked it," Blair said softly.

"I've got a whole list, guppy. Honey and sugar are right up at the top of the list. Then there's pumpkin and sweetie and sunshine and cuddlebug and--"

"Cuddlebug?" Blair strained to look up at Jim, grinning a little. "I never hear that one before."

"You weren't supposed to, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. What if I like one of them?" Blair settled back against Jim's chest, feeling incredibly sleepy all of a sudden.

"You like cuddlebug? I thought you'd laugh," Jim said with a chuckle.

"Well, it's kinda sappy, but I sort of like it. I got used to guppy, and that's a lot less flattering."

"Okay, then, cuddlebug, it's time for you to close your eyes and relax. You need some sleep." Jim slid his hand under Blair's tank shirt and started slowly rubbing his back, smiling at the contented sigh against his chest.

Blair sat at the desk in front of the class, alternately grading the exams from his afternoon class and watching the students. He had been relieved that Mark Borden had never returned to his class, but also was wise enough to know it was only going to blossom into a full-blown "situation", since the athlete hadn't dropped the class. He had just ceased showing up at all. Now that finals were here, there would be no hope for him to recoup his grade at all, short of writing a 100% test paper. Electing not to show up for the final wasn't really much of a decision. The die had already been cast when he eschewed all the other sessions.

The 90-minute exam period was uneventful, and concluded 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Blair had made the final rather light, since most of his students were overloaded and stressed out at finals time. He'd put the majority of tough subject matter in the mid-section of the course, and then attempted to taper it a bit. From his own experiences as a student, he'd found he didn't retain much when he had to learn it under extreme pressure.

The lecture hall finally emptied, the last student lingering to ask about the next semester's courses. A young co-ed who had been obviously taken with her professor from day one, she had taken an inordinate amount of time to write her test to gain this few moments of Blair's time.

After his admirer had gone on her way, Blair gathered up his papers and headed for his office. Jim was due to pick him up at nine, and since it was only 8:00, Blair figured he could stop by his office to put away the stack of graded tests and to pick up a few other items he would need to work at home the next day. The Wednesday night final had been his last. The course that met Tuesdays and Thursdays had been wrapped up with the exam on Tuesday afternoon. Grades were due by the following Monday at the latest, but Blair hoped to get them ready by Friday so he could devote his weekend to his dissertation. With a mid-May defense date set, he had his advisor's final suggested revisions to make.

He heard footsteps in the hall that stopped by the open door to his office. He smiled a little before he looked up.

"I thought you were going to wait for me downst--" He stopped abruptly as he saw that it was not Jim, but Mark Borden, who filled the doorway.

"Just came by to check on my grade," he said, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Well, I'm afraid it isn't good news, Mark," Blair responded, trying to keep his tone calm.

"You told me I couldn't come back to class. Now you're gonna flunk me for not showing up? That's a fucking crock."

"I didn't say you couldn't come back to class. I said that you should refrain from coming back to class until you were prepared to discuss the grading situation in an adult, rational manner. Since you never returned, I assumed you hadn't reached that point."

"You're a real smart son of a bitch, aren't you?"

Jim picked up his pace as soon as he found Blair's classroom empty. He'd had a feeling the class might dismiss early, but when there was no sign of Blair, he hurried toward the nearby stairs in a slight trot of a run. As soon as he hit the bottom step, he could hear the familiar heartbeat going all over the map, panicking.

He took the steps two and a time and burst through the door of Blair's office to see Mark Borden standing over Blair, who was sprawled on the floor, trying to pull himself up and mop at a bloody nose.

"You son of a bitch!" Jim shouted as he spun the startled assailant around and landed a successful right cross which sent Borden down on his butt on the floor. "Come on. Get up, you fucking jerk! Now!" Borden didn't know enough to not to provoke Jim further. He got up and advanced toward him, this time caught by a drop-kick that moved so fast even Blair was at a loss to describe how it had happened. On the floor again, Borden was considerably subdued. "Come on, hot shot! Let's see what you've got, you snot-nosed little puke!" Jim shouted. Blair had to almost laugh at that. Jim was the perfect image of the insulting drill sergeant.

"Just back off, man," Borden said, holding up a hand.

"What's the matter? Can't handle somebody your own size? What's the matter, you goddamned sissy? Can't even take on some guy old enough to be your father?" Jim smiled a little maniacally as he saw the building rage in the younger man's eyes. "That's it, come on, let's see what you've got!" Jim goaded.

"Jim, let it go, man," Blair interjected, having pulled himself up off the floor, holding his wadded up handkerchief under his nose.

"I'm callin' the cops!" Borden threatened, getting back on his feet again.

"Save yourself the change, asshole." Jim flipped open his ID. "Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. You're under arrest for assault and battery. Now turn around and put your hands on the wall before I kick your ass again!"

"I'll have your badge, man. Police brutality!" Borden protested as he assumed the ordered position.

"Give it your best shot, junior. You have the right to remain silent..." Jim read the sputtering student his rights and slapped the cuffs on him. "You sit tight. I'll be back," Jim directed at Blair, who just nodded and slumped in the desk chair, still nursing his nose. "Call the campus police and have them meet me downstairs." Blair nodded again and picked up the phone. Propelling his prisoner into the hall with a few well-placed shoves, Jim soon disappeared through the door, which he pulled shut behind him since a few curious faculty members were now coming out of their offices to see what the commotion was.

The campus police arrived quickly and took charge of Borden, transporting him downtown for booking, with instructions to look up Detectives Ryf and Brown to handle the situation. Jim knew the other two men were currently on the night shift, and that they would give Borden all the hospitality he deserved. A quick call downtown from Blair's office alerted them to be waiting for the incoming prisoner. "Still bleeding?" Jim asked Blair, the flurry of activity finally dying down enough for him to check on his partner.

"I don't think so. But I've gotta get cleaned up. It's so messy I can't tell."

"You're swelling up pretty good there, Chief," Jim commented, taking a look at Blair's abused face. "Did he hit you anywhere else?"

"He only got one shot in before you showed up."

"We better get you cleaned up and get downtown. You'll have to sign a complaint."

"Jim, I don't know, I mean, if--"

"He hit you. That's assault and battery. If you don't make the complaint, he'll walk. Which will mean you'll be right back to square one with the whole situation with him."

"He's going to be plenty pissed off at me if I press charges."

"I'll be plenty pissed off at you if you don't," Jim snapped back, not really intending to be quite that harsh. Still, Blair's waffling on this point angered him, even if he did understand its origins.

"Guess I'm stuck then," Blair said a little defeatedly. "That's nothing new." He hauled himself out of his chair and started for the door. "I have to wash up."

"Blair, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, but for God's sake, Chief, you can't just roll over and die here. This guy slugged you. If you let him get away with that, you're in his pocket for good."

"I know how that goes, Jim. Better than anyone else."

"Look, we're not talking about Watson here. You don't live with that jerk. You live with this jerk," Jim said, indicating himself with both hands and smiling a little. "And this jerk isn't going to let anything happen to you because you sign this complaint. Got that?"

"Got it," Blair said a little quietly. "I just...you know I thought that this profession...that my job--that it would different. All my life, I've dealt with bullies. Vince was a bad one, but he was just the cherry on top of the bully sundae. I'm stronger now physically than I used to be--I've been working out, and I've been trying to learn some moves from you...and I didn't think that would matter here. I thought it would matter when I was riding with you...or maybe if I got jumped in a parking lot or something. I just didn't think the battles I'd have to fight here would be physical ones, and that I'd always lose." There was a hint of tears in Blair's eyes and in his voice. "He wouldn't have ever thought of negotiating his grades with his fists if I had been bigger. It's like it doesn't matter how good I am up here," he continued, gesturing to his head. "This damn society boils it all back down to the physical again. He's a jock so he's special and expects preferential treatment. I'm not a large guy, so it doesn't matter if my credentials are ten feet tall. It still ends up with me on my ass on the floor because he's bigger than I am and I'm sick of it!" Blair concluded in an elevated voice.

"He isn't going to get away with--"

"Because you rescued me! The big guy rescued the shrimp again! Do you know how that makes me feel?" Blair demanded, tossing the handkerchief aside to reveal his blood-stained nose. "How long would you feel like any kind of a man at all in my place? All this time, I've tried to compartmentalize what Vince did to me--to say that I was somehow under his spell emotionally, or...or there was that award-winning twist of the situation you came up with that turned me into a hero! I was strong because I rolled over and took it because I was protecting you! Who was I protecting tonight? I couldn't even fucking protect myself! You had to do it for me!"

"Blair, he was half again as big--"

"Yeah, that's the point. It's a size thing."

"I don't think this has anything to do with Borden, sweetheart," Jim said softly, hoping to calm the outburst. Blair wasn't pacified.

"No, you're right. It has to do with me! Blair the sissy. Blair the shrinking violet that can't take care of himself! I'm so goddamned sick of being shoved around by muscle-bound jerks! And I can't do anything about it. Not a fucking thing!" Blair shouted, reaching up to feel that his nose was, indeed, bleeding again, while a couple of tears were trickling down his cheeks. "Oh, shit."

"Will you let me help you get cleaned up and take care of your nose, Chief?" Jim started to approach Blair, but wasn't about to infringe on his personal space without permission at the moment.

"I'm sorry," Blair finally responded through his tears. "I'm doing it again."

"I'd be pissed off too in your place," Jim said calmly, pulling Blair into his arms and stroking his hair as the other man cried against his chest. "Here, hold this under your nose, honey. It's okay." Jim got his own handkerchief under the offending nose, which had left it's mark on his shirt.

"I bled on you," Blair muttered, covering his nose but still staying in Jim's embrace.

"So what? You like to buy me presents. Just make the next one a new shirt." Jim smiled as Blair laughed a little at that.

"I feel like...like Vince used to make me feel. Helpless."

"You're not helpless, Chief."

"I was with Borden. He could have beaten the shit out of me."

"Maybe it's your response pattern. Did you ever think of that? Watson taught you to be submissive. When he hit you, it didn't occur to you to bounce back up and hit him back, did it? And even if you had some way to outwit him and get away, you didn't think to try it, right?"

"He'd have killed me." Blair sniffled a little.

"Physically, you're strong. The work you've done with me in the gym has built up your muscle tone better than it was before everything went down with Watson. When we used to get in tight spots and someone hit you, unless it knocked you out, you didn't just curl up in the corner and wait for more. Sometimes you used your wits to get the drop on them. The point is, you had that fighting spirit. Maybe that just needs to heal up too. I think it will, in time."

"But I don't have it now, right?" Blair asked, no trace of anger in his voice. It was as if he were processing Jim's theory and seeing some validity in it.

"I'm just saying that what happened here tonight--the way it went down--and a lot of the physical abuse Watson got away with had to do with the way he taught you to respond. Extremely painful consequences shape behavior patterns very quickly. If you mouthed off to him or tried to fight back or shield yourself, you got it worse and more of it. Undoing those responses takes awhile, Chief."

"You should've been a shrink," Blair quipped, smiling a little against Jim's chest.

"First thing we need to do is wash your face and get a good look at your nose. Then I need to get you checked out by a doctor for the paperwork. I think you're fine except for a messy nose and a headache, but you know the drill. Then we'll take care of the paperwork at headquarters, and we can go home."

"I want to go home now."

"I know. Me too, sweetheart. Come on. The faster we move now, the sooner we'll get home." Jim pulled back reluctantly and took a hold of Blair's hand. "What do you need out of here?"

"Oh, man. All that stuff on the desk."

"All of it?" Jim's eyes widened.

"I mean the pile on the blotter."

"Thank God," Jim responded, laughing as he squeezed and released Blair's hand and gathered up the folders bulging with test papers and tucked them in the overburdened backpack. "Shit, Chief, you didn't need to start working out with me. Anybody who can heft this thing on his back every day has his weight-lifting quota in."

"I can take it," Blair said, holding out his hand as Jim approached.

"That was a joke, sweetheart. I think I can handle it." Jim smiled and slung the pack over one shoulder, guiding Blair with an arm around him toward the men's room.

The doctor declared that Blair's only ill-effects were a sensitive nose, a headache and some swelling and bruising around the site of the blow. None of this was news to Jim, who had assessed the damages that way himself, or Blair, who was tragically very experienced at assessing the damage done to his own body by large fists without benefit of medical attention.

The paperwork at the precinct didn't take long to complete. The only hold up was that Borden had made his claim that Jim had assaulted him. Simon was satisfied with Jim's explanation that he had come in on Borden attacking Blair and had engaged him in some hand-to-hand combat in both Sandburg's and his own defense.

By the time they pulled into the garage for the night, both men were weary of the day and ready for a quiet night's sleep. Simon had okay'd Jim taking the morning off, provided he filled in for another detective on a stakeout the following evening. Jim happily agreed, knowing Blair would be busily grading tests anyway, and having the house to himself for some undistracted peace and quiet would move the process along faster than if Jim were hovering around. He invariably noticed how sexy Blair looked in his professor mode, especially when he'd slip downstairs to work in the middle of a sleepless night. Dressed in a robe that hung open to expose a provocative "V" of his chest, glasses in place, hair hanging loose and a little towseled...just the thought could get Jim's motor running, let alone the sight of the real thing.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Blair asked as they trudged up the stairs together.

"These are worth at least a buck, Chief."

"I can't believe this is coming out of my mouth, man, but, um..."

"What?" Jim paused to look down into his lover's eyes as they entered the master bedroom.

"Not tonight. I have a headache." Blair grinned a little devilishly, but Jim could tell by the faint undercurrent of discomfort in the expression that it wasn't a lie.

"Tonight, I'm giving you a bath and putting you to bed. No funny stuff."

"That sounds great," Blair sighed, sitting on the foot of the bed and pushing at the heel of his laced up shoe with the toe of the other. "Shit." He started to lean forward but Jim stopped him.

"Keep your head up, baby. I'll get 'em." Jim removed the shoes and socks and left Blair to shed the rest of his clothes while he went down the hall to the bathroom and started the water for Blair's bath. It took a while to get it warm, and Jim figured the hot soak would relax the younger man's taut muscles.

He shivered at the icy coldness in the hallway and the bathroom. Curious, he stepped into the bedroom they used as their home gym, and then into the guest room. The chill was present in each room.

"Ready for me yet?" Blair came out into the hall in his robe.

"Wait for me in the bedroom, sweetheart. It's freezing out here. I'm going to get the space heater from the study."

"Jim, it feels fine out here."

"Humor me. If you bare your ass in that bathroom, it's going to get frostbitten."

"Oh, come on, man. It can't be that cold." Blair walked down the hall and stuck his head in the bathroom. "It feels fine in here, love. The heat's on."

"Bullshit. Don't hand me that. Feel my hands." Jim held out his hands and Blair took them, shuddering a little at what he felt.

"You're cold as ice." Blair's right hand released Jim's left and came to rest on Jim's forehead, then his cheek. "Your whole face is cold--like you've been outside."

"Now do you believe me?" he snapped at Blair. "Everything has to be a fucking scientific test around this house!" He stormed downstairs in the direction of the study to get the heater.

He no sooner reached the study and picked up the small heater than he felt remorse at having bawled Blair out for no apparent reason. He climbed the stairs quickly to apologize, and was almost thrown off balance by the absence of the cold. The temperature in the hall was normal, and it was almost stuffy in the bathroom. Blair was sitting on the closed toilet seat, looking contrite, as if he'd just been given a very deserved scolding. //Oh, sweetheart, when are you going to get your spirit back?// Jim thought sadly as he set the unnecessary heater in the hall and closed the bathroom door behind him to keep the warmth inside.

"I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass about the cold thing, man. I didn't mean to be." Blair's eyes never raised from their focus on the floor.

"You weren't, Chief. I snapped your head off for no good reason. I owe you the apology." Jim quickly kissed the top of Blair's bent head as he added some of his lover's favorite bath oil to the filling tub. Seeing that Blair still hadn't moved, Jim squatted in front of him and placing a hand under the smaller man's chin, raised his face so their eyes met. "I'm sorry, Blair. You weren't out of line. I was."

"I shouldn't talk so much. Sometimes I forget. It used to piss Vince off all the time."

"You say anything you want, whenever you want, around me--got that?"

"He asked me if I ever shut up. I guess I don't too often."

"Come on, sweetheart. The bath's ready." Jim took Blair's robe while the younger man lowered himself into the water with an audible sigh. "How'd you get this bruise on your shoulder?" Jim ran his thumb lightly over the spot, then kissed it.

"I think it hit the corner of the desk when I fell. No big deal."

"Blair, I don't want you to consciously stop talking to me," Jim said softly as he soaked the sponge and soaped it up with some bath gel and started gently washing Blair's back. The long curls were restrained in a sort of doubled up pony tail, since Blair had decided he was too tired to go through the whole shampooing and drying ritual again that night.

"But I get on your nerves sometimes."

"So does life in general, but that doesn't mean I don't want to live." Jim smiled a little, moving to wash Blair's arms. "I just mean that all the talking you do is part of who you are. And that's who I love."

"Are you still cold?"

"No. I don't understand what kind of draft operates that way. One minute, it was freezing up here, and the next minute, it was fine."

"Maybe it's a sensory thing."

"Maybe. Don't worry about it tonight, Chief. You look exhausted." Jim continued his efficient but gentle washing of his lover, who was tired enough that there was barely a stirring in the limp genitals when they were tenderly washed.

"I've had better days," Blair responded, his voice a little shaky. "The bath feels really good."

"How's your head?"

"Still hurts. I think I'll take some Tylenol before bed."

"It's on the night stand for you, baby."

"I hope things get better. I feel like I'm falling apart all over again, Jim. And it scares me, man."

"You're stressed out, sweetheart. Things'll look better after you get some sleep, and after the grades are turned in. How about you let me check the multiple choice and true-false ones for you?"

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. We'll work on it for a while before I go in tomorrow." Jim smiled easily as he finished his washing duties and leaned in to plant a kiss on Blair's lips.

"How am I gonna get by if I can't handle stress?" Blair looked up at Jim from under a couple of curls that had broken free of the loose restraint. "I'm supposed to defend my dissertation in three weeks. Look at me." Blair held out his hands, both of which were shaking. Jim took a firm hold of both of them.

"Tonight had to bring back a lot of ugly memories. That along with the end of the semester and us moving and the dissertation defense..." Jim shrugged. "It's just too much."

"But I don't have any choice. I have to be able to handle stress and deadlines and schedules and I'm falling apart!" Blair said, his voice elevating with each word.

"You're still recovering inside from Watson. Maybe you have to be a little more forgiving of yourself for not being able to do twenty things at once without it catching up to you. Blair, you nearly died less than a year ago. You've done great in that time, but it's still not very long ago."

"But I'm worse now than I was before. Since we moved...it's like I'm losing my grip on things."

"It was pretty thoughtless of me to keep up this house-hunting crap when you were coming up on the end of the semester. Your first semester as a professor, no less. My timing on this sucked, Chief. I should have backed off until you had your Ph.D. in the bag." "I love this house, Jim. I'm glad we moved."

"So do I, but I love you more, and the move put a lot of extra stress on your back when you didn't need it." Jim lifted the stray curls away from Blair's eyes. "The Blair I hauled out of Watson's place couldn't have picked out which socks to wear without help--or permission. You've got your health back, a new job, you're one hell of a lover, and in your spare time, we moved into a new house, while you were polishing up your dissertation. If that's losing your grip, you're going to be downright dangerous when you get it back."

"But I'm fucking it all up. Look at me," Blair said sadly, gesturing at himself. "Some guy punches me in the nose and I'm in as bad a shape as I was when you took me home from the hospital."

"You're tired, Chief. You need some sleep."

"I'm way behind on my dissertation. I'm never going to be ready--really ready--by the due date. And I haven't published anything since before Vince... I'm scared, Jim. I feel like it's all getting away from me."

"Can you change the date on your dissertation defense?"

"No," Blair responded, looking down and shaking his head. In a moment, his shoulders were shaking slightly with his tears. "W-with Vince, and th-then r-recovering...and the n-new j-job...they've given me...too many...extensions already." Blair looked up at Jim through wet eyes. "I can't do it, Jim. It's over. I failed. I can't do it."

"Come on, baby. You're turning into a prune in there. Let's get you dried off and into bed. We'll talk more, okay?" Jim watched while Blair nodded.

After getting Blair dried off and into the sweatpants and t-shirt he had picked out to wear to bed, Jim led his unhappy partner into the bedroom and tucked him in, giving him two Tylenol and some water. Jim hurried through a speedy shower and pulled on boxers and a t-shirt before rejoining Blair in bed.

"You want to talk, sweetheart?" Jim asked in a whisper as he slid under the covers, not wanting to disturb Blair too much if he was drifting off to sleep. "If I can't complete my Ph.D., I'll lose my job. I'm not tenured, Jim. They can fire me for this."

"You think they'd do that? It was your advisor that urged you to apply for this in the first place."

"Assuming I could get my shit together in time to complete my degree."

"You're worn out tonight. It all probably looks impossible now."

"Because it is."

Jim turned onto his side and spooned up behind Blair, pulling the smaller body tightly against him.

"Everything's going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise you. I don't know how exactly right now, but we'll get through all this, and we'll still be healthy, alive and together."

"God, Jim, I'm so tired."

"I know, baby, I know. Just relax and let yourself sleep. We'll tackle everything tomorrow."

"It's really funny."

"What?"

"All the times I got slugged or got bloody noses with Vince, and I'd have a bad headache and feel lousy...it felt really good tonight...you taking care of me. And it feels real good to have you holding me and not making me...you know, when I don't feel good." Blair stroked one of the strong arms holding him. "You even let me wear my sweat pants to bed when I'm cold," Blair added with a grin. Jim squeezed him tighter, kissing Blair's neck. "I love you."

"I love you too, cuddlebug." Jim gave his lover a little squeeze again and planted a soft kiss on his shoulder. "Sleep tight, baby."

Jim stirred, and in that foggy state between sleeping and waking, tightened his arms around...nothing. Coming to with a bit of a start, he saw that Blair's side of the bed was empty and cooling. Wherever Blair was, he'd been up for a while. Making an almost automatic auditory scan of the house as he put on his robe, Jim located the familiar heartbeat quickly. Blair was nearby, probably in the hall.

Jim strolled out toward the stairs, and found his lover sitting on the top step, seemingly unaware of his presence behind him. Not wanting to scare Blair if he happened to be sleepwalking, Jim kept his voice soft and stayed several feet away from the other man.

"Chief?" He waited, but there was no response. "Blair?"

"So many steps," Blair said absently. "Long way down."

"Blair, are you awake?" Jim asked, still softly but a bit more assertively.

"He broke his neck, you know."

"Who broke his neck, Chief?" Jim wrinkled his brow at the strange statement, then wondered if Blair was referring to one of Watson's former lovers who had taken a mysterious header down a flight of outdoor steps and died from a broken neck.

"What?" Blair turned around and looked back at Jim, then at his surroundings.

"I think you were dreaming, sweetheart." Jim joined him on the top step, draping an arm around the smaller set of shoulders.

"I don't remember coming out here."

"Maybe you were sleepwalking."

"But I don't do that. I never have."

"Let's go back to bed, huh? It's drafty on the stairs."

"What?"

"It's freezing out here, Chief."

"No it's not."

"You don't feel the cold at all?"

"No." Blair shook his head, then looked back down the stairs. "Something awful happened here, Jim."

"Blair, are you with me now? Awake?"

"Of course," Blair turned away from staring down the steps to look at Jim. "Why? Wasn't I before?"

"You said 'he broke his neck'. Right before that, you said 'long way down'."

"Oh, man. I don't remember any of that."

"What did you mean just now, when you said something awful happened here?"

"It's just a feeling. There's a...sadness in this house. It comes over me once in a while. But especially on the stairs." Blair looked back down into the shadows below them. "And you feel the cold here and in the hall and in a couple of bedrooms. There's something wrong here, man. Don't you get it?" Blair slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Ouch. Great thinking when you have a headache," he berated himself. "I don't know why I didn't get this before. You're detecting elements in the atmosphere of the house that normally would take specialized equipment. The cold spots, for instance. And remember when you thought you heard footsteps? Maybe you did."

"Whoa, just hold on there a minute. This is starting to sound like a cheesy haunted house movie. Cold spots, footsteps. Next thing you'll want to do is have a seance."

"Well--"

"Don't even think about it, Chief. The only spirits in this house are in the six pack in the fridge downstairs."

"Oh really? How do you know there aren't any?"

"How do you know there are?" Jim retorted.

"Cold spots. Footsteps. That horrible crashing noise I heard last night--oh my God." All the color seemed to drain out of Blair's face.

"What is it?"

"Jim, that sound...it was just like someone falling down the stairs. Hard." Blair shivered, and Jim took a hold of his hand, standing up.

"That's enough ghost stories for one night, sweetheart. Time to get some sleep."

"How can you think about sleeping, man?" "Easily. I go into the bedroom, get in bed, cuddle up to you and close my eyes. Out like a light."

"What if there's something really going on here?"

"Look, Blair, you're stressed out, and my senses aren't always the most dependable things in the world. I've been known to...to...'short-circuit' once in a while. I heard and felt some weird stuff, and you had some dreams. End of story."

"I still think there's something more to it," Blair reluctantly followed Jim back to bed, casting one eye over his shoulder at the shadowed hall behind them. He closed the door as soon as they were both in the room, and turned the lock.

"What's that for?" Jim turned around, surprised.

"So I can sleep."

The next morning, very little else was said about the ghost conversation the night before. Blair worked diligently at grading the essay exams, and Jim sat across the big oak desk from him, checking the objective portions of the tests against Blair's answer keys. Blair didn't seem much the worse for wear from his run-in with Borden, with the exception of a healthy bruise and some swelling around his nose.

Jim left for work around two, not anticipating being home much before midnight or after. Blair took advantage of the quiet time by himself to steam-roll through grading a mountain of test papers, then settled into a wingback chair in front of the fireplace to read the term papers from his junior-level course on Incan Civilization. Despite the dull throb in his head from the blow he'd taken the night before, and some of the other tensions that plagued him about his dissertation, Blair couldn't help enjoying the beautiful setting he had in his study. He sipped hot herbal tea as the fire leaped and crackled, and put his feet up on the matching burgundy leather ottoman. When at home, he had a better office than Rainier's president had. Chuckling at that thought, he focused his attentions back on the task at hand and began reading.

The rustling of pages from his desk drew his attention away from the paper in front of him. The pages of a large book he'd left open there were fanning back and forth, as if moved by a phantom hand. When they came to rest, Blair got up from his chair and approached the desk cautiously.

The book in question was a Criminology text. He and Jim had gotten into a discussion about the corrections system when they both got bored with the grading project, and had ended up debating a couple points of theory. Always prepared, Blair had retrieved the text off the shelf. Much to his chagrin, Jim won the argument, and settled back down to correcting the tests with a satisfied grin on his face.

The book was open to the chapter on domestic violence. Blair grimaced at it, acknowledging the personal relevance of it, and chilled by the way it had randomly fallen open to that spot. //There was nothing random about the way those pages moved...like someone going through the book looking for something...//

At that precise moment, a door slammed shut somewhere upstairs. After jumping at the noise, Blair walked cautiously out to the entry hall and stood at the foot of the stairs. A door somewhere up there opened now, and could be heard slamming against the wall behind it, as if it had been kicked open into the room. What Blair heard next chilled his soul and revived horrible memories of his own experience. The sounds of violence...fists making contact with flesh and bone, someone falling, male voices arguing...both male voices.

Then the horrible crashing sound that made Blair jump back away from the staircase, half-expecting to see someone fall, broken, at his feet.

Leaning against the front door, chest heaving with the fear and shock of what he had experienced, Blair consciously worked at controlling his breathing and calming himself down as the silence of the house settled over him.

"Who are you?" he asked softly, and waited for a reply in the silence that followed. There was none. The only sounds to reach his ears were the usual sounds of the furnace coming on and all its attendant creaks and snaps as old floorboards warmed. "Please, talk to me," Blair continued. "I...I understand. Please, trust me."

For a few moments, there was no response. Then, Blair distinctly heard footsteps ahead of him, moving toward the kitchen. He followed the sound to the back door, and his indrawn breath was audible as the door swung open by itself. Grabbing his old jacket off the hook near the door, he took the phantom's bait and followed it through the door.

Standing in the middle of the back yard, Blair was confused what to do next. He thrust his hands into his pockets as he stood on the slightly mushy ground. The snow had melted a few days earlier thanks to some late April sun. Now, however, it was windy, cold and cloudy.

Whatever spirit had led Blair out of the house had deserted him now. Disappointed, he turned and trudged back up to the house and shut and locked the door behind him. He hung his coat back on the hook near the back door and dropped into a kitchen chair, trying to process everything he'd heard. If the page the book was open to was combined with the symphony of frightening sounds, and the odd phrases Blair had uttered himself the night before, it was fairly simple to deduce what had happened. Obviously, there was a violent incident upstairs, probably in the room they were using for the gym. The confrontation had spilled into the hall, and someone had ended up falling, breaking his neck at the foot of the stairs. The participants had to be two men, judging by the depth of the faint voices Blair had been able to discern.

The ringing of the phone made him jump, then laugh at himself a bit. He got up and picked up the phone on the wall.

"Hello?"

"Hey there, professor. How's the grading project going?" Jim's friendly voice came over the line. Blair soaked it up like a tonic.

"Okay. I'm almost done, actually. I'll probably work on my dissertation this evening."

"Is everything okay? Your heart sounds like a jackhammer from here."

"I'm fine. I, um, was in the basement when the phone rang." Blair rolled his eyes at the lie, but didn't want to explain the truth. Jim probably wouldn't believe it anyway, and Blair figured he was making a good case lately to have himself hauled into mandatory sessions with a shrink.

"The basement? Doing what?" //Oh, shit, Jim's not buying it,// Blair thought.

"The furnace sounded funny. But everything looks fine down there."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to be around here another hour or so catching up some paperwork, and then I'm heading out with Ryf and Brown on that stakeout. I'm not sure when I'll be home. Maybe around midnight or so, if I'm lucky."

"Get home by midnight or so, and you just might get lucky." Blair smiled as he heard Jim's responding laugh.

"Wish my dinner break was long enough to zip out there for a little afternoon delight."

"You and me both. Beats the hell out of reading students' somewhat twisted versions of Incan Civilization." Blair paused. "I know I haven't exactly been exciting lately. I want to make that up to you."

"You don't have anything to make up, sweetheart."

"Maybe not, but wouldn't it be fun if I tried?"

"No arguments there, Chief. I better get going. Just wondered if everything was okay."

"Fine. Be careful."

"Always," Jim responded grinning. "Love you."

"Love you too. Talk to you later, lover."

"Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"You're sure everything's okay?"

"Fine. Just missing you, that's all. Hey, listen to the radio on your dinner break okay?"

"Okay. Any special reason?"

"Just listen to 105."

"Will do."

"I love you. Be careful." Blair didn't want the conversation to end, but he knew it was headed that way, and Jim had to get back to work.

"You too, Chief," Jim responded in a decidedly more platonic tone. He wasn't alone anymore.

"Later, man," Blair concluded, grinning.

"Don't work too hard," Jim responded, then hung up the phone.

Blair reluctantly hung up the phone and stared around the cozy kitchen. There was nothing going on now to make it feel less than safe and comfortable. Determining that he should approach this situation the same way he approached every other significant one in his life--by researching it--Blair pulled his jacket back on, hurried through the house, and grabbing his keys from the basket that had been placed on the small antique table near the door, headed out to his car.

His first trip was to the county clerk's office, to trace the ownership of their new property. The most recent records were on computer, but for anything prior to 1972, the helpful older woman behind the counter had to haul out large plat books and look the information up by hand. Surprisingly, most of the home's owners had occupied the house since that time, with the exception of the original owner and his heir.

Blair had a complete listing of the home's owners and a fairly definite timeline of when each party had lived there. Satisfied with his afternoon's work, he left the county clerk's office only moments ahead of the employees, as the five o'clock traffic kicked into full gear.

He turned on the radio, smiling as he heard the five o'clock request show starting, knowing that Jim would be tuning in right about then, too. The DJ played a few songs and a couple dedications, then Blair's ears perked up when he heard a familiar message.

Jim flipped on the radio as he opened up his cheeseburger. Sitting alone in a cold truck with greasy take-outs was a far cry from snuggling with Blair in front of the fireplace, feeding each other. He had indeed paid dearly for that unscheduled morning off. But it had been worth it to help Blair with the mountain of paperwork, and given the younger man's emotional state in the last couple of days, Jim wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving him any sooner until he was sure Blair was his usual self.

"Our next listener called me early this afternoon and wanted me to be sure to get a song on the program for tonight, dedicated to Jim. Blair says to tell you 'thanks for this morning, and just seeing you smile makes everything seem possible.' Okay, Jim, here's your song."

Jim smiled as Natalie Cole's voice came over the speakers.

//Thought I'd seen everything,  
There was to see in this world,  
Now I'm not so sure,  
I've really seen anything at all.  
I thought life  
Could show me no surprises,  
But then you came,  
And showed me I was wrong.

I have seen the bluest skies,  
Rainbows that would make you cry,  
I have seen miracles that moved my soul,  
Days that changed my life,  
I have seen the brightest stars,  
Shine like diamonds in the dark,  
Seen all the wonders of the world,  
But I've never seen a smile  
As beautiful as yours.

I thought I'd been everywhere,  
Climbed the mountains so high,  
Sailed the sea, crossed the sky,  
Still I was nowhere at all,  
Until that day  
You came to my senses,  
And your smile,  
It made sense out of it all.

I have seen the bluest skies,  
Rainbows that would make you cry,  
I have seen miracles that moved my soul,  
Days that changed my life,  
I have seen the brightest stars,  
Shine like diamonds in the dark,  
Seen all the wonders of the world,  
But I've never seen a smile,  
As beautiful as yours.

A smile so beautiful,  
Comes one time in a lifetime,  
A smile this beautiful,  
I never dreamed I'd ever see.  
I have seen the bluest skies,  
Rainbows that would make you cry,  
I've seem miracles that moved my soul,  
And days that changed my life,  
I have seen the brightest stars,  
Shine like diamonds in the dark,  
I've seen the wonders of this world,  
But I've never seen a smile,  
As beautiful as yours.//

Jim smiled as the song faded, wishing even more intensely that he could see Blair, maybe just hold him for a while. //Lovesick slob,// Jim berated himself, laughing a little. A knock on the window startled him. Blair stood outside the locked passenger door, smiling and waving in the window. In a flash, Jim had the door unlocked and Blair hopped up into the truck.

"Want some company?" he asked, grinning as Jim pounced on him, claiming his mouth and pulling their bodies close against each other.

"That was beautiful, sweetheart. Thank you." He kissed Blair again, more gently this time.

"I wanted to thank you for this morning. It's not just the tests--I mean, that was like a major help, but it was the moral support. I really felt snowed under last night, and I guess it was just not feeling all alone in it...it just makes all the difference. Plus every time you flash me that smile, I believe everything's okay, even if it isn't."

"I love you. I know we say that a lot, but I mean it, Chief. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I don't know about that, but I know I love you more than my life."

"I do know about that." Jim smiled down at the man in his arms and stroked his cheek. "I'm definitely not going to want to leave you to go on this stakeout."

"Can I come along?"

"I thought you had to work on your dissertation."

"I do," Blair admitted, grudgingly. "Unless you need me," he added hopefully.

"This is a routine thing, baby. Even I can't justify making you sit there and drink bad coffee for four hours when you could be getting something done. Besides, we'll be in a van with Ryf and Brown, so no roving hands allowed."

"Man, that takes all the fun out of it." Blair snuggled against his lover. "How much longer on your dinner break?"

"About forty-five minutes. I just got here."

"See that motel over there?" Blair asked, grinning. "Know what this is?" He dangled a key in front of Jim.

"This is like some kind of X-rated fantasy." Jim laughed a little, taking a hold of the key.

"That's the idea. Can't you think of anything better to do with your mouth than wrap it around that cheeseburger?" Blair let his hand travel from it's resting place on Jim's thigh to his groin. "I can tell you like the idea," he leered.

"Think lights and sirens would be overkill to get across the street?" Jim turned on the engine and zoomed out of the lot, taking the first reasonable break in the traffic to get across the street to the motel. Blair directed him toward their door, and he brought the truck to an abrupt halt in front of it.

The moment the door swung shut behind them, clothing started flying in all directions, and when they came together in an embrace, the two men tumbled onto the bed, never pausing in their lovemaking to acknowledge the change of positions.

"Want you," Blair panted into Jim's ear while the other man nipped and then sucked on the tender skin of Blair's neck.

"I don't have anything," Jim finally responded, looking down into the passion-glazed eyes of the man lying beneath him.

"In my pants." Blair gestured toward the jeans on the floor near the bed. Jim reached one long arm over the side and snagged the garment, finding the small tube in the pocket easily.

Blair rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up, while Jim stretched out behind him, pulling the long hair aside and kissing Blair's neck and shoulder while he carefully stretched and lubed the snug opening. He grinned a little devilishly when Blair cried out from Jim's finger brushing over his prostate. Feeling they had both been tortured enough, Jim coated himself with a generous amount of lube and whispered in Blair's ear.

"Love you, my heart. Relax, I'm coming in, baby." And with that, he slowly pushed past the slight initial resistance, then sheathed himself to the hilt in the hot channel that received him willingly. A few moments later, he began rocking back and forth, sliding partway out, then back in again. Blair was grunting in time with his thrusts, meeting him motion for motion.

"Harder...come on, please...harder!" Blair gritted out, letting out a wail Jim feared would bring the police to the door when the younger man's prostate was hit at a good force. Jim kept up the intense pace, dragging cries of pleasure out of Blair, who was thrusting backwards as hard as Jim was thrusting forward, making their flesh slap satisfyingly together. Jim brushed Blair's hand away and took over the task of pumping his lover's shaft.

"Oh, baby, you feel...so good..." Jim ground out as he felt his climax building and their pace became yet more frantic. Blair let out a final cry as his internal spasms pushed Jim over the edge with a shout of Blair's name.

Both lay there panting a long time, Jim holding the smaller body firmly against him, soaking up the closeness with Blair, their bodies still joined.

"That was...phenomenal," Jim finally said, rubbing Blair's chest and belly gently. He could detect the relaxation in Blair, and knew it wouldn't take much for him to drift into a deep sleep. "Don't go away, baby. You still have to drive home, remember?"

"Ugh," Blair groaned. "How long've we got?"

"About ten minutes, tops." Jim nibbled and earlobe, then started trailing little kisses along Blair's sweaty neck. "Feel okay?"

"I want you to stay in there," Blair responded, a definite smile in his voice.

"We went at it a little hard. Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'll feel it tonight, but that's what I wanted."

"Is everything okay?" Jim asked, a bit concerned.

"It's great now," Blair sighed, wriggling his rear against Jim's groin, stirring the softened organ that was lurking in the snug tunnel. It liked what it felt.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I've got to move while I still can." Jim carefully eased out of Blair and the younger man turned over so they were face to face. "This was an amazing surprise, baby."

"Glad you liked it," Blair responded, moving in for a long, lazy kiss. "I really wanted you. Badly."

"Sure gives me something to fantasize about tonight."

"Uh-uh. Keep your mind on what you're doing, Jim."

"Yes, sir." Jim kissed the end of Blair's nose. "I have to get moving, sweetheart. And as much as I might love smelling you on me all evening, I don't know if Ryf and Brown want to smell the fruits of our passion closed up in a van with me. Wanna hit the shower?"

"You go ahead. I'll shower when I get home. Love you, mine." Blair pulled him in for one more fierce hug, which was returned with strength just barely restrained from bruising.

Jim was showered and partially dressed before Blair convinced himself to get off the bed. When he did, he dressed quickly and the two men left the ravaged motel room hand in hand. Jim pulled up by the door of the office long enough for Blair to return the key and then headed back for the parking lot across the street where Blair's car was still parked.

"Miss you already," Blair said, leaning over for one more intense duel of tongues before opening the passenger door decisively and quickly exiting the truck.

"Love you. I'll give you a call later--but I'll probably be with Ryf and Brown."

"Okay. I'll just talk dirty to you then, and you can listen."

"You're hopeless. Watch the traffic, Chief."

"I'm a big boy, Jim. I think I can handle the drive home."

"Okay," Jim responded, laughing. "Thanks for coming," he said, then shook his head. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, sure. Same to you, man." Blair slammed the door of the truck, laughing and waving to Jim before hurrying over to his own car and getting into the driver's seat. Jim watched him pull out of the lot, feeling the same acute sense of loss every time he parted company with Blair. Of course, parting when you'd rather be swallowing each other's tongues in the sleepy afterglow was just that much harder.

Blair pulled into the garage and headed into the house. The earlier incident still had him a bit spooked, but he was determined not to let it frighten him off. So far, the spirit or spirits had shown him no hostility. From his perspective, it just seemed as if they were trying desperately to communicate with someone...to tell a story. At least the poor guy who took a header down the steps was, anyway.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he hurried upstairs and shed his clothes in the master bedroom, carrying them in a bundle under one arm and his robe over the other. After tossing the dirty stuff in the hamper, he made a mental note to go downstairs and throw the load of laundry in before Jim got home. The smell of stale sweat and bodily fluids would wreak havoc on his nose if it were left in the bathroom hamper all evening.

Deciding to treat himself to a soak in the tub instead of a quick shower, Blair filled it with warm water and when the temperature and water level suited him, climbed in and slid into its steamy embrace. He let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the relaxing water and the lingering sensations from his passionate encounter with Jim.

The sounds of footsteps in the hall startled him, and his eyes snapped open, immediately going to the open bathroom door. His heart froze in his chest. Vince Watson stood in the doorway, smiling just the way he always did when he had something special planned for Blair.

"No...this can't be happening," Blair said to the grinning nightmare in the doorway. He forced his eyes closed a moment, and when he opened them again, the doorway was empty. That either meant it had been his imagination, or Watson had slipped away and hidden somewhere else.

Hesitantly, he got out of the tub and toweled off rapidly. Wrapping his robe tightly around himself, he stood at the point in the room farthest from the door and tried to summon the courage to stride through it into the hall and prove that Vince had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination that had evaporated as soon as he came.

He had seen the corpse himself. Vince had died right there on the floor of the loft, taken down by one well-placed bullet from Jim's gun, just before the detective had collapsed from the bleeding knife wound in his side.

//Dead men don't come back. They don't hurt you.// Blair tried repeating the mantra over and over again, and still he couldn't make himself walk through the door.

//What if something went wrong? What if he wasn't really dead? No, he has to be. They did an autopsy. You don't survive one of those. He's buried in Hillside Cemetery. I've seen the grave.//

"Vince?" Blair asked in a hoarse, shaky voice. He was answered by silence. "Vince, please, if you're out there, um, we can talk. But, please, let me know where you are, huh?" Blair and made his way toward the door, bracing himself. He couldn't stay in the bathroom until Jim got home. He had no phone, no weapon...he was easy prey for anyone who might be in the house. There was always the possibility the shadows had played tricks on him, and someone had gotten into the house, but not Watson's ghost.

Blair swallowed hard and walked quickly into the middle of the hallway, eyes darting in all directions. The hall was empty, and the artificial yellow light illuminated most of the shadows. The furnace started up, making Blair jump a little. The faucet in the bathtub dripped a few times, and the phone rang, making him leap again as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his butt. He flew into the master bedroom and pounced on the phone, figuring that if someone really had gotten in, he wanted to at least get the connection open and make a plea for help.

No one jumped him or restrained him or attacked his person in any way.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chief, what's up? Blair--what's wrong?" Jim asked immediately.

"Can you come home?" Blair blurted before he even thought about it. Jim was in the middle of a stakeout, probably on his cell phone in the back of a van with Ryf and Brown. "I mean, I miss you. I was just kidding."

"No, you weren't. What's wrong?"

"I...I saw something. Or I thought I did. Someone. It just spooked me, I guess."

"Are you alone in the house?"

"I...I think so. I think it was my imagination."

"You think but you don't know for sure?"

"No, I don't. Um, do you wanna hold and I'll go look around? Then if I don't come back--"

"You stay on the line with Ryf. I'm on my way." Before Blair could raise another objection, Jim was off the phone and Ryf's voice came over the line.

"What's going on, Blair? Jim just jumped out of the van and ran like a bat out of hell for his truck, which is two blocks away, incidentally."

"I think somebody's in the house. I'm not sure."

"You're not sure? Why do you think someone's there?"

"I dozed off and when I woke up, I saw someone. When I got my eyes really adjusted, no one was there."

"But you're thinking they could be hiding somewhere?"

"Yeah--exactly."

"If they were, you probably wouldn't have been able to take the call or stay on this long."

"You're right." Blair was watching the door of the bedroom, his back pressed firmly against the wall.

"Jim'll probably be there any minute."

"Probably. Look, if you want to hang up--"

"If I hung up on you now, Jim would shove his cell phone so far down my throat...never mind. He'd be pissed."

"It's been great talking to you too, man," Blair quipped.

"You know what I mean," Ryf responded, laughing.

The two men visited on the phone a while longer, Blair feeling more and more relaxed and more and more stupid as the time went by. When he heard Jim's siren, and then heard the front door burst open, Jim shouting to him, he thanked Ryf and hung up, hurrying into the hall to meet his lover, who took the stairs at least two at a time until he reached Blair.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked as Blair's body slammed into him and two tenacious arms fastened around his middle.

"I'm really sorry about this, Jim."

"There's no one here but us, baby. I don't hear any heartbeats, or movements of any kind. But I'll check everything to be sure." Jim patted Blair's back lightly. "You want to tell me what this is all about?"

"I...saw Vince," Blair mumbled into Jim's chest, shuddering at the memory of that face looking at him so...hungrily.

"You had a nightmare, sweetheart?" Jim tightened his hold.

"No. I mean...maybe. I was in the tub, and I closed my eyes for a minute, and I heard someone, and that startled me, and I looked and he was in the doorway. It was so...real."

"What happened to him then? I mean, where did he go?"

"I told myself it couldn't be him, couldn't be happening, and closed my eyes a second. When I opened them, he was gone." Blair pulled back a little, never having been so relieved to be with anyone in his life as he was to be with Jim at that moment. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Blair, you're still shaking like crazy. You don't think it was a dream, do you?" Jim held onto Blair's chin gently, keeping their eyes in direct contact.

"No," he said in a barely audible voice. "Some other stuff happened today...before I came out to see you."

"Come on. Let's go downstairs. I want to check things out anyway."

"I'm coming too...I don't wanna be alone right now, Jim."

"Okay. First let's get you into some clothes." Jim kissed Blair's forehead and steered the bathrobe-clad man into the master bedroom where Blair located a pair of jeans and a favorite sweatshirt. After pulling on socks and shoes, he and Jim descended the stairs hand in hand, and made a casual walk through the house, including the basement and garage. Nothing had been disturbed.

"I feel like an idiot." Blair curled up in the corner of the couch in the back bedroom, which had been converted into a TV room. Jim joined him, flopping an arm behind him on the couch.

"Don't. You thought you saw something. Better safe than sorry."

"I saw Vince."

"Now we know it was a nightmare."

"He looked at me the way he used to before..." Blair closed his eyes briefly and reopened them to see that Jim was still staring fixedly ahead at the dark TV screen. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" Jim shot back, standing up. "That goddamn bastard is managing to come back from the dead and remind you of what a perverted fucker he was and scare the shit out of you and you ask me 'what's wrong?'!"

"Do you think I'm losing my mind, Jim?" Blair asked the question very quietly, and very solemnly. Jim stopped his rampage in its tracks and looked down into two very sincere, very worried blue eyes. "I wonder if this is how it feels to go insane. To not be sure what's real and what isn't."

"You're not losing your mind, Chief. You were tired--"

"Jim, I'm not tired 24 hours a day! I was just resting. And there he was! And before, earlier--I was working in the study."

"What happened earlier?" Jim perched on the opposite end of the couch while Blair told his story.

"So I went to the county clerk's office, and they got all the names for me. She only had to find one in the hard copy files. Everything else was on computer. I have a list of owners of the house, and I'm going to do some research to find out who lived here before and who might be a likely candidate to be haunting us now."

"You're seriously looking for a ghost here?"

"Jim, think about this a minute. You've heard footsteps, felt cold spots...I've heard that horrible noise like someone falling down the steps, I've said some bizarre things, my whole life with Vince is literally coming back to haunt me more than it ever has before...and what about the book blowing open to that segment on domestic violence? Don't you get it? The spirits are trying to tell us something."

"Yeah. We have a draft in the study." Jim shook his head as if he really did consider that Blair was losing his mind.

"And the book just happened to open to the chapter on domestic violence? There's a reason these spirits, or at least one of them, is trying to reach out to me. I think it's a shared experience."

"Excuse me?" Jim asked, obviously annoyed to have been called home from a stakeout for a lesson in the paranormal.

"What I heard today sounded like...like a lot of one-sided violence. Believe me, man, I know what that sounds like. It's the sound of one person attacking and the other retreating, trying to hide, trying to stop it somehow. I think there was a lot of pain and misery and abuse in this house at one time, and eventually, the worst happened. The victim ended up at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. I think they were both men."

"Look, Chief, I can understand why you would interpret things this way. It's understandable you'd see it in the context of your relationship with Watson, but still--"

"So you do think I'm seeing things? Imagining things?"

"Do you think Watson's haunting us too?" Jim demanded.

"I can't explain that, okay?" Blair said defensively. "But the rest of it makes sense, if you just open your mind a little."

"Opening my mind a little is sitting in the middle of the floor with you listening to Aborigine music to get my rhythms where you think they ought to be. This is...insanity!" Jim was up and pacing again. "This is the kind of silly shit that happens in horror movies. I would think you of all people would be sharp enough to realize that."

"And I would think you of all people would have some open-mindedness toward things mystical."

"There is one hell of big difference between my sentinel abilities and this kind of cheap, theatrical haunting bullshit."

"Oh really? So if you told someone besides me that there's this big black panther that shows up every now and then to act as your spirit guide, and that you had a conversation with yourself in the middle of the jungle, and that you can find me in the crowd at a Jags game just by following your nose, they wouldn't lock you up? Get real, Jim. That sounds as crazy as this does. But it's true. And it's real. Man, your whole life is proof that there are things beyond our mundane understanding."

"This mundane is going to call Simon and let him know why I'm sitting on my ass at home instead of on the stakeout." Jim headed for the phone.

"So go back to the goddamned stakeout! I'll deal with this myself!" Blair snapped, getting up and stomping off toward the hallway.

"You just hold on a minute there, Chief." Jim was hot on his heels. "You drag me back home on this panic call and then you dismiss me and put on this self-righteous act and blow me off because I don't agree with you? Damn it, Sandburg, listen to yourself! Ghosts? Spirits and shared experiences?"

"You don't have to make fun of me, man. If you don't believe me, that's fine. I'll deal with this myself." Blair turned to walk away but Jim grabbed his arm and spun him back around.

"This conversation isn't over."

"Oh yes it is." Blair yanked his arm away and started for the stairs.

"Get your ass back down here, Sandburg!"

"Why? So you can tell me I'm crazy? Guess what? I don't fucking need that from you so why don't you go back on your fucking stakeout and leave me the hell alone?! If I'd wanted someone to tell me I was nuts, I could have gone to a shrink."

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea!" Jim shot back.

"Fine. If I need one, then take a look in the mirror, hot shot, because the first time you tell your little panther-heightened senses-mystical mumbo jumbo story to anyone but me, you're going to find yourself in a room with nice soft walls and a preponderance of baskets that need weaving!" Blair started upstairs but Jim hurried up behind him and grabbed hold of his arm again, this time yanking hard enough to bring him back down a couple of steps. Before Blair knew what was happening, Jim's right hand was raised and began coming down in just the right arc to deliver a resounding back-hand blow across Blair's face. The blow never landed, because the arm froze in mid-air as a look of absolute horror swept over the larger man. There were no words to describe the look of shock, then fear, then betrayal, then heartbreak that crossed Blair's expressive features.

"Oh, my God, Blair...sweetheart...I didn't...I wouldn't..." Jim stammered, unable to even form any words. He wanted to pull Blair into his arms and hold him, reassure him that the blow would never have landed, but he honestly couldn't figure out how he had ended up on the staircase with Blair when the last place he recalled being was in the hall.

"Jim?" Blair's voice was a bit shaky, but he seemed to be recognizing the disorientation on the larger man's face. "Jim, are you zoning on me?"

"N-no, not exactly...I don't think..."

"Come on, love, talk to me. What's going on here?"

"How did we get here?"

"What?"

"On the stairs? How did we get here? The last thing I remember is fighting with you in the hall, and then the next thing I knew, I was standing here, and my arm was up...Oh, God, Blair, you know I'd never hit you."

"I thought I knew that," Blair responded softly, twisting his arm to free it from Jim's bruising grip, rubbing the spot with his other hand. Jim hadn't even realized he still had the restraining hold on Blair. When he'd helped Blair with bathing and changing in the first days after his hospital stay after being rescued from Watson, Jim had cringed at the number of finger-sized bruises that had peppered Blair's upper arms and shoulders. He had vowed to never put any there himself, but now he had, and the pain in Blair's eyes cut into Jim's heart like a knife.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to grab you and I never would have hit you. I don't remember what happened."

"Like a black-out?" Blair asked, trying to pull himself together enough to really listen to what Jim was saying.

"Yes."

"Kind of like what happened to me in the kitchen that morning--you know, when I argued with you about coming upstairs and then you gave me the knife? Remember? And I honestly didn't remember saying anything to you about nosebleeds, but then you said I did--when I broke the cup?"

"Yes! Exactly," Jim responded, relieved. "Did I hurt your arm?" he asked worriedly.

"Probably just a couple bruises, no big deal," Blair dismissed, moving his hand away from the spot. It was more the pain of the betrayal of his trust that had made him rub at the spot than any piercing pains in his arm.

"Is it okay if I hold you for a minute?"

"I think that'd be a real good idea," Blair responded, moving eagerly into Jim's arms and holding on tightly as the larger man enveloped him in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I don't remember how we got here. I never want to hurt you...God, I'd never hit you." He slid a hand into Blair's hair and massaged his scalp, feeling the smaller body relaxing against his. "Please don't stop trusting me, sweetheart. I don't even know how we got here, but I never meant to hit you...or even to grab you that hard. I hate that you're going to have bruises because of me."

"I know. It's okay, Jim. I know you didn't mean it. I was just...scared." Blair shuddered a little. "Heavy dose of deja vu, man."

"I didn't mean all the lousy things I said to you, Chief. I don't think you're crazy."

"I'm sorry too. I acted like an ass. I was just upset."

"You've got a right to be. It's been a rough few hours."

"I'm sorry about your stakeout."

"Forget about that. You know you're more important to me than anything else."

"Tell that to Simon."

"I don't think I have to tell that to Simon. He knows." Jim smiled into the warm mop of hair. "We have to talk...rationally this time."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go somewhere. Maybe have a beer. I don't think we should talk here. Things have a tendency to get...confused."

"Good idea. Let's go."

Continued in part four.

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into five parts for easier loading.  
Shadows of the Past

by Candy Apple  
Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part three.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST - part four  
by Candy Apple

Both men had sat in silence for a while, sipping at their beer and watching the other patrons of the bar and grill come and go.

"I feel ridiculous," Jim finally said. "Going out so I can talk without my house overhearing me."

"It's a little surreal, that's for sure," Blair responded, smiling a little. "I need to do some research on the past owners of the house to find out what's going on, but just from the pattern of ownership, I would say the problem originated with either the guy who built the house or his heir. See, all the other owners are clustered together from 1972 to the present. And there have been twelve of them."

"Twelve? In less than twenty-five years?"

"I know, that was my reaction too. I haven't spent a lot of time on it, but it looks like a lot of that time, it sat vacant. So it's been like someone moved in, lived there a few months, then put it on the market." Blair took another swallow of his beer. "I think the spirits probably just scared people off. But with us, I think we're connecting with them."

"And this is a good thing?" Jim asked, brows raised.

"Well, yes and no. I mean, I'd like to think we could help these poor lost souls find their way back where they belong. On the other hand, it really, really scares me, man. When I saw Vince in that doorway..." Blair shuddered visibly.

"You're sure it was him?"

"It was his face, his...leer. I'd know it anywhere."

"So why are we 'connecting' do you think?"

"I think there was a domestic violence situation in that house that ended in tragedy. And it's pretty obvious why that would connect with us. For me, I have all this...this misery and fear still in there I can't quite get rid of, and with you, it's anger."

"Rage. Anger doesn't describe it." Jim leaned back in the book they shared and shook his head. "But tonight, it turned on you. The part that's got me unhinged is that it's starting to make us do things."

"I'm connecting with the victim, I think. I know his pain first-hand, and he's reaching out to me, trying to be heard. He knows I understand."

"So that leaves me to connect with the killer? There's a happy thought. Thanks a lot, Chief."

"I haven't figured all this out yet, man. I just know I've felt this incredible sadness since I moved in there, and it's like there's this little voice trying to tell me something, and sometimes I think it gets through, like when I made that weird comment about nosebleeds that time." Blair exhaled loudly. "Before he died, Incacha told me he was passing on to me the 'way of the shaman'. Well, part of a shaman's...job description, for lack of a better term, is communicating with spirits of the dead."

"I'm not a shaman."

"No, and no spirit is really telling you anything, either. But your senses are picking up on what experts bring in specialized equipment to monitor and record."

"Something else got a hold of me tonight. I almost hit you."

"Maybe the killer is tapping in to your rage. Anger, hate...those are negative emotions." Blair saw Jim's mouth open to start an objection, but he raised his hand quickly. "I'm not criticizing you or anything. I feel rage, I feel anger--all of that. But in your case, it's all anger and rage, because you didn't live through it, so you aren't dealing with that part of it. You watch me suffer and you get angrier and angrier and there's nowhere for it to go."

"Short of digging Watson up and figuring a way to kill him again, that's a pretty hopeless problem, Chief," Jim gulped the last of his beer and nodded when the waitress showed up to offer a refill.

"If there is a spirit that's...not good. I hate to say something campy like 'evil spirit'--"

"If the shoe fits," Jim responded, chewing on one of the cooling cheese sticks from the appetizer they'd ordered to keep the beer company. He had no interest in eating, but this conversation was making him nervous, and chewing was something comfortingly mundane to do.

"Okay. If there's an evil spirit involved here, it would feed off negative energy."

"So the bad guy picked me."

"Well, sort of, yes. I was mad when we were arguing, but I was more hurt than anything else. But I was making you mad. Really angry. And wasn't it perfect for him to slip in and take advantage of your anger, and even better, your anger at me."

"I didn't have any intention of grabbing you, and I sure as hell wouldn't have hit you."

"I know that, Jim. What I'm saying is that it was an opening, and something took advantage of it. Made you swing at me. And the cold and the footsteps--maybe those are the movements of the evil spirit. The fall down the stairs, the odd phrases, my being even more obsessed with my past with Vince--maybe those are the sounds and the influence of his victim."

"Even if we assume all this is true. What in the hell are we supposed to do about it now?"

"Find out what really happened. I don't know exactly how thing happened, or if any of it was ever dealt with. Maybe the murder was covered up, maybe the wrong person was accused, maybe it was written off as an accident...it could be anything. Maybe this is all some kind of outcry for...justice."

"I doubt the killer is crying out for justice."

"No--but see, wouldn't it make sense if he were trying to stop it from being uncovered?" "Why? He's dead, whoever he is. It's not like we'll be arresting him anytime soon."

"Protecting his reputation? Habit? If he spent his whole life keeping it a secret, or covering it up, maybe he can't understand that he's dead and it doesn't matter anymore."

"What bothers me more than any of this is that I could have really hurt you tonight." Jim's eyes dropped down to the cheese stick he was absentmindedly dismantling, albeit delicately, with the fingers of both hands. Blair reached over and covered the busy fingers and the victimized cheese stick with his own hand.

"No, Jim, you couldn't have. Whatever took you to that point--it couldn't make you go beyond it. You were angry at me, so it all flowed. But it's so against everything in you to hit me that you wouldn't do it. I don't believe there's any force in that house, or anywhere else, that would make you any real danger to me." Blair noticed that Jim's eyes had flicked away from his almost imperceptibly and then returned. Blair withdrew his hand and it rejoined its mate in his lap.

"I'm sorry, Blair. I didn't mean to do that." Jim finally tossed the mangled food aside and took a drink of his beer.

"It's okay. You just usually don't mind."

"This isn't exactly a fine restaurant, Chief. I guess I'm not in the mood for a redneck fist fight."

"Vince and I used to eat here a lot." Blair looked up at Jim, and smiled at his shocked expression. "He didn't keep me in the kitchen with a ball and chain around my ankle, man. We did go out to eat once in a while."

"I guess I have trouble picturing the two of you doing something...normal together." Jim finished off his beer.

"We went out a lot, really. Moreso at first, but even when things started getting bad...we still went places. He defended my honor in here once--I thought that was really cool," Blair admitted, laughing a little. "We hadn't moved in together yet, and he brought me here to eat. I was a little worried when he wanted me to sit in the same side of the booth with him, but the audacity of it was fun."

"What happened?"

"I went up to the bar to ask for drink refills, because we couldn't get the waitress's attention, and one of the guys up there made a remark, and the guy he was with made the mistake of swatting me on the butt."

"And?"

"See those shelves of booze bottles and that giant mirror behind the bar?"

"Yeah?"

"Vince had to pay to replace those. He literally tossed the one guy over the bar and while in-flight, he took out the mirror and totaled most of the booze." Blair shook his head. "Vince was bigger than either of them, and when the first guy saw what his friend got, he ran like hell out the door with Vince right behind him. I never saw anybody move that fast." Laughing a little, Blair glanced over toward the bar. "Luckily for him, he got in his car and locked the door before Vince got there. He almost had to run over Vince to get out of the parking lot. He was so pissed off I thought he was going to kill anything in his path."

"Did the airborne guy press charges?" Jim asked, enthralled, and yet a bit jealous, of this seemingly happy memory Blair had of Watson.

"No. We thought he would, but the bartender--he owns the place--was going to make them split the cost of the repairs. The bill was major. As soon as he could see straight, the other guy said if Vince covered the bill, he wouldn't call the cops. So Vince did and that was that."

"And you thought all this was pretty cool?" Jim asked, smiling a little.

"At the time, yeah. Now...? I don't know if he was really defending my honor or his property. Maybe he was just looking for a fight. I don't know. I'd like to think it was because the guy swatted me and it was a degrading thing for him to do, but realistically, I think it was a territorial thing. As far as he was concerned, my ass was his property, and someone else was pawing what was his. He used to say he wanted to take me out and 'show me off'. He got in more than one fight when we went to straight bars and clubs and acted like a gay couple. He wouldn't even let a funny look pass unchallenged."

"You don't think any of that was genuine--motivated out of love?"

"I don't know. I think he was proud of me. Proud that we were together. He was very open about his lifestyle, so that wasn't an issue. He always told me I was 'stunning'. Of course, that was before I moved in with him and he decided I needed to lose weight, was too short, and talked too much. I don't know anymore what was real and what was a lie. He knew how to court somebody. He made me feel like he was all excited to have me. Until he got me."

"So, you want me to go toss a couple rednecks for you before we leave?" Jim smiled and Blair laughed.

"I think we've had enough excitement for tonight," Blair responded, still smiling. "I didn't mean to imply I didn't think you would do that for me. Just ask Mark Borden."

"Waste of oxygen," Jim commented.

"Are we going back home?"

"You know if we don't go now, we never will?"

"I guess. I'm just scared, that's all."

"Of what?" Jim caught Blair surprised expression. "Specifically, I mean?"

"Seeing Vince again," Blair answered honestly.

"Do you think it was really him? His spirit?"

"I don't know, but I'm afraid of him, Jim. I still am. Just thinking about that look on his face and what it meant..."

"I know." Jim reached across the table this time and took a hold of Blair's hand. "I know now to keep my guard up. I won't let anything hurt you, Blair. I'd die first. You know that."

"Yeah, I do." Blair squeezed Jim's hand, his whole body shaking at the mere thought of the apparition of Vince. "It was so real. I thought...I thought, if he touches me..." Blair closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his hand tightening painfully on Jim's.

"Hey, sweetheart, try to take a deep breath and calm down. It's okay." Jim watched intently as Blair struggled to follow the instructions. "We can stay at a motel tonight."

"Could we?" Blair asked, hope evident in his eyes.

"Sure. This'll look less horrible in the morning. Come on." Jim got up and Blair followed suit. After tossing some money on the table for a tip and paying the check on the way out, they climbed into the truck and headed for the same motel where they'd had their passionate tryst that afternoon.

Both men found solace in the ordinary surroundings of the motel room. After sharing a warm shower together and toweling each other off, they slid naked under the blankets and met with a hungry kiss and gentle caresses, bringing their aching arousals into contact, grinding them maddeningly together. Jim came first, and his completion and shout of Blair's name pushed the younger man over the edge to his own climax.

"I'll get a washcloth," Jim offered, kissing Blair's forehead. He returned to the bed after cleaning himself and then gently cleaned his lover, who was drowsing a little in the afterglow. After tossing the used cloth in the sink, he got back into bed and gathered Blair in his arms. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too." Blair waited a moment, just soaking up the warmth, safety and scent of the big body that was wrapped around his. "Please, don't let him touch me," Blair pleaded in a small voice before he began to cry softly against Jim's chest. "I'm so scared."

"I know, baby. It's okay. I won't let him hurt you. Not ever again."

"He looked...at me...that way...before...he...he...that night...when he..." Blair gave up and let his emotions have their way with him while Jim held him tightly, crooning little reassurances in his ear. And before he knew what was happening, the most horrendous, dark secrets of his ordeal with Vince started spilling out in words. Every monstrous detail of the torture session that had left him bed-ridden for two days, all the sadistic little things that were said or done just as acts of cruelty as ends in themselves and for no good reason, every fear and emotion...it all poured out with the tears that seemed unstoppable.

Through it all, Jim kept the shaking body in his arms held firmly against him, and vowed to listen quietly to all of it. Blair was finally opening up, and the anguish that he could never voice before was coming out in a deluge. Jim cried with him, sobs that mingled until neither knew where one ended or the other began, as Blair described Watson's depraved, sadistic activities in graphic details that made Jim waffle between the need to vomit and the need to kill a man who was already six feet under.

Two hours later, Blair lay exhausted in Jim's arms, having passed out in the aftermath of the emotional release. Jim gently kissed the slightly parted lips and cuddled his armload close to his heart. As he gave in to a few more tears of his own, Jim felt a sense of peace mixed with the pain. Blair was finally taking a major step in the healing process. And if seeing a ghost was what it took to open the flood gates, he found himself thanking the spirits as he slid into his own restless sleep.

When Jim opened his eyes, the room was bathed in the greyness of dawn. His natural tendency to move and shift a bit was interrupted by the tightening of the arm over his middle and a little whimper of objection.

"Shhh. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not leaving." //Even though I have to piss like a geyser at the moment,// Jim thought to himself.

"Jim?" The voice was sleepy and almost disoriented.

"Right here, baby. Go back to sleep."

"Have to go," Blair mumbled and staggered off toward the bathroom. Jim had to laugh in spite of the darkness of his mood. He got up and waited for Blair to come out, and then he made use of the facilities himself. Upon returning to the bedroom, he found Blair snuggled back under the covers but wide awake.

"How're you doin', Chief?" Jim slid back into bed and reached over to brush a wayward curl out of Blair's eyes.

"I don't know," Blair answered honestly. "Hold me, okay?"

"You have to ask?" Jim grinned and pulled his lover close until they were wrapped around each other on their sides. The position allowed Jim enough motion to rock them a little. "It was a rough night, sweetheart. I know."

"I didn't want to gross you out like that," Blair said, snuggling impossibly closer to Jim. "I couldn't help it."

"What Watson did grossed me out. You don't gross me out. Always remember that distinction, baby."

"It really...hurts to remember." A few tears slipped past Blair's tenuous control. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. If you need a good cry, let it out. Just you and me here, sweetheart." Jim tangled his hand in Blair's hair and massaged his scalp as he felt the tremor of tears pass through the smaller body. "I'm glad you were able to tell me. I know it hurt to do that." Jim closed his eyes and buried his face in Blair's hair. "I love you so much, sweetheart. Don't you ever forget how much."

"Don't leave me, Jim. Please don't ever leave me."

"Never, my love." Jim smiled, thinking that he knew just the thing to soothe Blair's frazzled nerves--or make him laugh so hard he'd stop crying, anyway. Jim started singing. "You ask me if there'll come a time, when I grow tired of you...Never my love, Never my love. You seem to think this heart of mine, will lose its desire for you...Never my love, Never my love...How can you think love will end, when you know that my whole life depends on you..." Jim continued with his somewhat awkward, definitely not award-winning rendition of the song, smiling as he felt Blair's heart rate even out and the tears subside to an occasional sniffle. In the silence that followed Jim's first, and what Jim fervently prayed was his last, attempt at a capella singing, Blair's arms tightened around him.

"That was so beautiful, mine. Thank you."

"I don't know as beautiful would spring to mind, Chief, but I'm glad you liked it."

"It was beautiful to me. I was so scared that when you heard all of it, you'd...you wouldn't want me anymore. I guess that's dumb, but I still worried about it."

"Your fear wasn't dumb, sweetheart. But it was misguided. Facing all this again is scary, I know. But there's nothing you could tell me that would make me stop loving you. After everything you went through, do you know how much it means to me that you trust me? That we can be together the way we are and it's this good?"

"I used to hug my pillows in the morning sometimes, after Vince left. I'd hold onto them and pretend it was us, doing this. Holding each other. I missed you so much."

"I'm no pillow, sweetheart. I'm right here." He rubbed Blair's back in long strokes. "You're my whole life, cuddlebug. I'm never going to leave you."

"Jim?"

"What?"

"Make love to me, please?"

"Are you sure that's what you want now?" Jim asked gently, kissing Blair's hair.

"It's what I need now. I need to feel you inside me."

Jim didn't reply in words. Instead, he began kissing a trail down Blair's jaw to his throat, pausing to lick and suck, leaving a prominent passion mark on the soft skin.

"It might show," Blair protested weakly.

"Hope so," Jim replied, his lips still against Blair's neck. "Relax, baby. Let me love you," he whispered hotly in Blair's ear, running his tongue around the shell. His only response was a needful little moan as Blair rolled onto his back while Jim began his oral love-making in earnest.

Blair's shoulders and chest were peppered with wet kisses and licks before a hot mouth fastened onto the left nipple, drawing it firmly into the wet velvet suction until it became a hard peak, and Blair groaned from the intensity of it. Jim ran his tongue in a path to its mate, pleasuring it in much the same manner.

Sparing only a moment for a devilish glance upward at his aroused lover, Jim moved unexpectedly outward to Blair's arms, stretching each one out in its turn, kissing his way from shoulder to wrist, pausing to nip at the soft skin inside each elbow. The taste and scent of his lover was filling his senses, stirring his arousal. But this was going to be prolonged. Slow and worshipful, a tiny attempt to love Blair enough to ease the pain of what he'd been through.

Jim smiled against the soft skin of Blair's stomach as there was a little rumble under his lips from Blair's laughter. Knowing where the ticklish spots and the erogenous zones were on his lover, Jim couldn't resist doing some teasing with his tongue and lips, just to hear that laugh. It became a groan as Jim's tongue dipped into Blair's navel, swirling around the little valley before following a trail of kisses to the wiry hair surrounding the engorged shaft that begged for attention.

Ignoring the obvious, Jim made his way to the creases where thigh joined groin, kissing and nipping and beginning a journey down the inside of both thighs. Blair was panting and little whimpers of pleasure mingled with frustrated desire filled the air. Not wanting to turn teasing into torment, Jim made his lip voyage back up Blair's left thigh and then began running his tongue over the soft skin of Blair's perineum.

"Oh, God, Jim, touch me, please..." he groaned, hips bucking off the mattress. The devil tongue was lurking between the two places he wanted most to be touched, but not satisfying either one.

Then the tongue slid purposefully down to the little pucker and began darting in and out, probing and stretching Blair's center. Letting his legs come to rest on Jim's shoulders, Blair clutched the sheets in white knuckled fists, thrusting in tempo with the motion of Jim's tongue.

"Need lube, baby," Jim gasped, looking at Blair from between his raised thighs. Blair's frenzied brain tried to compute, to focus on what to use.

"Spit's okay," he gasped finally.

"No way." Jim kissed Blair's thigh and brought the legs down gently as he slid off the bed. "Wait here," he managed, noting that he was probably setting a world's record for the most upright motion successfully completed with a telephone pole sticking out of his groin. He found some complimentary hand lotion in the medicine cabinet, and returned to the bed.

Blair was lying there, his breathing labored, his knees bent and feet flat on the bed, hands grasping at the sheets. That sight alone would have been enough to push Jim over the edge, but he made the effort to actually get back to the bed, and took his place between Blair's legs as the other man pulled his knees up to his chest. Using the lotion, Jim finished preparing the opening his tongue had already begun stretching. Coating himself generously, he brought the head of his throbbing shaft to Blair's center.

"Love you," he managed, slipping inside the precious body under him, tuning in to everything about Blair's response so he knew the precise moment to sheathe himself to the hilt without hurting his lover. He descended on Blair and claimed his mouth passionately as the smaller man's legs came up around his waist.

Tongues slid back and forth, swirling around each other until Blair pulled back and let out a cry of pleasure, the thrusting of his hips encouraging Jim to pick up the pace of his strokes. Jim's hand closed over Blair's cock, pumping it in perfectly rhythm with their lovemaking. Fingers gripped Jim's shoulders as their motion intensified, until Blair let out a wail of Jim's name, spurting his completion over his lover's hand, chest and stomach. As soon as Blair's internal muscles clamped down on him, Jim cried out his own climax and the two men slumped together on the bed, a tangled heap of sweaty, sated flesh.

"Love you, mine," Blair murmured.

"Love you too, baby. You're safe now. Let yourself drift. Go back to sleep."

"What about work?"

"Oh, man." Jim looked at his watch. It was already eight o'clock. "I'll call Simon."

"You're going to get in trouble doing this all the time because of me."

"Shhh. Close your eyes and relax. This'll only take a minute." Jim picked up the phone on the night stand and dialed Simon's extension.

"Banks," the voice came over the phone.

"Simon? Jim."

"Ryf told me you had to leave the stakeout last night--you had a prowler or something?"

"Blair thought he saw someone, but by the time I got there, no one else was in the house."

"Do you think anyone ever was?" Simon asked.

"I don't know," Jim responded, looking down at Blair, who seemed to be totally disinterested in the conversation anyway. He had found his sleeping spot on Jim's chest and his breathing was evening out. "Look, I'm sorry to do this, but I have to call in today."

"You're kidding. Come on, Jim. I've got two guys on sick leave and you know I was planning on you for the stakeout again tonight. Something's about due to go down--there's a known supplier due in on a plane from Brazil this afternoon."

"Simon, it's serious. I wouldn't do it otherwise."

"Something's wrong with Sandburg?"

"Yeah, sort of. I can't go into it right now, but--"

"He's with you?"

"Right."

"All right. Give me a call later when you can talk."

"Will do. Thanks, Simon." And with that, Jim hung up the phone and looked down at Blair, who had managed to doze off during the telephone call. Smiling at the feeling that they had passed a very major obstacle in Blair's emotional recovery, Jim let himself relax and join his lover in the peace of sleep.

"Any luck?" Jim walked into the study carrying two mugs of coffee. Having returned to the house by late morning, Blair had finished grading his papers and now was surfing the Internet for any available information on the house's previous owners.

"Not really. Guess these folks weren't too interesting. I've been to a few genealogy sites, tried searching by their names...zippo." Blair took the offered mug, leaning back in his chair. "Thanks."

"Well, so far you've got the Wellesleys--"

"The original owners. But even on the property records they're listed as Mr. & Mrs. Arnold Wellesley. I don't see this as happening between a married couple. The voices I heard were male."

"Their son, Benjamin Wellesley inherited the house in 1954, and sold it in 1972."

"Or his estate did."

"Whatever."

"I don't know if he was married or not. That would be an obit question. I'll look him up at the library."

"We've got Gavin Taylor on the books for '72, and he didn't sell until 1988. Between 1988 and 1998, there were nine owners. Most didn't stay a full year, and the house had to sit vacant some of that time." Jim took a drink of his coffee and sat in one of the chairs by the unlit fireplace. "So I see us having three possible origins of trouble--the original owners, their son, or this Taylor guy, since he managed to stick it out living in the house for 16 years."

"I wonder if any of the other owners would be willing to talk to us?" Blair scanned the list of names. "Maybe we could find out what other people have experienced."

"Let's work on getting to the bottom of this first. I don't want to call a bunch of people asking about ghosts and cold spots."

"Like you think that's going to shock them after living here?" Blair smiled a little and then made a face at the monitor. "This is hopeless."

"Library time?"

"Yeah. I have to stop by my office and post the grades, and then I have to turn them into the Registrar. You wanna drop me off and go wait in the library?" Blair logged out and turned off the computer.

"Nope. I'll come with you, if that's okay with you. Borden hasn't been tried yet, and even when he is, he'll probably get probation. I don't want to take any chances."

"Thanks." Blair sat at the desk and just grinned at Jim.

"For what?"

"For loving me so much."

"It's a pretty easy thing to do, Chief." Jim smiled as he got up and headed toward the door, with Blair close behind him.

"I thought talking about it would make it worse," Blair said as they shrugged into their coats.

"But it didn't?" Jim asked hopefully.

"I thought keeping it in that box I told you about--keeping it buried--I thought that was the only way to cope with it. But now, after taking it out of the box, looking at it...I realize it doesn't have any more real power than what I give it. And it doesn't nag at me all the time. It was like there was this...thing there you didn't know about, and I was afraid of what you'd think when you heard it. I know you say all of it doesn't matter but there was this part of me that always wondered what you'd really think if you knew...that maybe you'd finally be disgusted with me for not going to the cops, and figure I deserved it or something. I know all that was stupid, but it was part of what worried me."

"You look better. Well, your nose still leaves a little bit to be desired," Jim commented, laughing a little as Blair did the same. "But you look...I don't know how to describe it..."

"Like me?"

"Yeah. Like you." Jim slid an arm around his smiling partner and guided him out the door. It seemed for the first time that he really had the old Blair by his side, complete with his characteristic bounce.

Blair wrapped up his business at his office and with the Registrar quickly, and the two men made their way across the sparsely populated campus to the library. Winter classes were finished, and Summer courses hadn't begun yet. The first day of May was sunny but cool, and Spring was making its presence known in the budding trees and the appearance of a few perennial plantings on the campus.

Blair happily chattered a mile a minute about the plans for a new building to house some of the performing arts functions, his hand casually held in Jim's as they walked to the library. He had no inhibitions about letting his colleagues or students see that he was part of an all male couple, and since all the publicity and gossip about Vince had been the talk of the campus for a while, he was just as happy to let the world see that his life was back on track again.

Finding a microfilm reader that was situated with enough room for two chairs, Blair dumped his backpack on one of them to reserve it and with the list of dates and names in hand, the two men searched for the appropriate microfilm of the "Cascade Herald". With about eight boxes of film between them, they returned to their viewer and Blair loaded the first roll.

"Who are we looking for first?" Jim asked, leaning in to look at the screen, his arm along the back of Blair's chair.

"Ben Wellesley's obit." Blair began the eye-straining process of scanning the microfilm, then looked over at Jim, taking off his glasses. "Why am I doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here. Trade ya," Blair got up and switched chairs with Jim, who smiled knowingly when he realized why Blair was moving. Sentinel vision could definitely make its way through the blur of moving microfilm better than Blair's. With a little smile on his face, Blair watched Jim scan the material effortlessly, at a much faster speed than Blair ever could.

"Here," he announced, backing up the film and zooming in on a narrow obituary listing. Blair read aloud.

"Benjamin R. Wellesley, 73, passed away Sunday at Cascade General Hospital, following a lengthy illness." Blair looked back at his notes. "This is dated February 19, 1972. The next owners moved in during '72 sometime." He looked back at the screen. "Check out the survivors. A wife and two grown daughters."

"So much for same sex couples," Jim concluded. "Who's next?"

"Well, there's no reason to expect that Gavin Taylor is necessarily dead, but I figured we should look for him in 1987 and 1988, just in case." Blair handled unloading and reloading the machine, happy to have turned the eye-popping job of scanning the information over to Jim. "You know, I never thought of testing you with microfilm before--you know, moving it and seeing how much you--" Blair was cut off with a gentle hand over his mouth.

"Dissertation defense in two weeks. You aren't going to conjure up any new chapters, hear me?" Jim hesitantly removed his hand, expecting the flood that, of course, came.

"But this is a major issue--the speed you can read."

"Why would my reading skills be any better."

"They're not necessarily, but the amount of information you can see and interpret from a moving source like this--"

"Blair, slow down. Look, the only thing that's really going to be good for is tipping other guides off that they need to make their sentinels do all the dirty work when they search microfilm. This isn't worth upsetting the apple cart with your defense date."

"I guess you're right." Blair chewed his lower lip a moment.

"But...?"

"Would you just try it for me? So I can see what you can do? I promise I won't make a big thing out of it." Blair turned on his best puppy-dog eyes, and Jim rolled his, knowing he'd been had, yet again.

"Okay, Chief. Fire when ready." Jim sat back to let Blair move the film.

"No. You go ahead. Then you can slow it when you have to."

Blair watched with rapt fascination as Jim adjusted the speed to the maximum level he could still interpret. While he was unable to actually read at an accelerated speed, he could search for specific words at a speed much higher than normal.

"Satisfied?"

"Yeah. Man, that was great! I never even thought about this before."

"Thank God." Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose and blinked a few times.

"Eye strain?" Blair asked guiltily.

"Oh, just a little," Jim retorted, smiling slightly. "If you weren't so damned cute I'd be pissed off right now."

"I'll make it up to you later. Take your mind of your head...at least one of them, anyway."

"It's a good thing this place is almost deserted," Jim admonished.

"Wanna do it behind the file cabinets over there?"

"Sandburg," Jim growled.

"What'd you find?" Blair asked, laughing a little as he turned his attention back to the monitor.

"Taylor's obituary."

"So he did die. Any survivors?"

"Nope. Well, just a sister in Oregon. He was 49, says he died suddenly at his home--September 29, 1987."

"Terrific."

"You think he's the one who took the fall?"

"I don't know." Blair jotted a few notes from the information on the screen. Think there'd be anything on him in the PD's computer?"

"'Suddenly at home' can mean anything from a heart attack to suicide to murder to slipping in the bath tub. I can look him up."

"I wonder about his sister," Blair pondered, writing down her name. "I could call her, and tell her I was checking with previous owners to see if they'd had any problems--ask if her brother ever mentioned anything."

"Worth a shot. You want to look these other people up?"

"Not yet. Let's follow up on Gavin. I have a feeling about him."

"Okay. I think I can tear myself away from this machine."

Back at the house with their information, Blair tracked Karen Taylor Kennedy through Information, finally getting a phone number. He dialed on the cordless phone, sitting in one of the study's wingback chairs while Jim sat in the other, confident he could easily tune into the conversation.

"Hello?" A female voice came over the line.

"Mrs. Kennedy?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Blair Sandburg, and I'm calling from Cascade, Washington. I know this is going to sound a little odd, but I live in the house your brother, Gavin, owned?"

"And?" Her voice wasn't irritated or rushed, but reflected her confusion at his call.

"Well, like I said, this is going to sound a little weird, but we've had some...disturbances in the house, and I was wondering if your brother might have ever mentioned having problems with odd noises, drafts, that kind of thing."

"How did you get my name?"

"Well, I got your brother's name from the county clerk's office--the property records--and I got your name...from his obituary. I'm sorry if that sounds morbid, but it was the only way I could think of to reach anyone who might know something about the house. And I am really sorry to impose on you with questions. But we have a bad situation here, and we love the house, and we want to know if anyone can shed any light on the problem."

"My brother wouldn't have been a reliable source for information. He was...disturbed."

"He had psychological problems?"

"Yes. Serious problems. He committed suicide. He was seriously depressed, and hallucinations were not unusual for him."

"What kind of hallucinations?"

"I really don't want to continue this conversation, Mr. Sandburg."

"To be honest with you, I think the disturbances could be connected to your brother--to some tragedy that happened in the house. Did he commit suicide in the house?"

"No. He did it in the woods behind the house," she responded. Her words were short and clipped, as if anything more would draw out emotions long-buried.

"Would you please tell me what kind of hallucinations he had? You see, I've...seen some things too, and heard some things, and it's made me seriously question my own sanity."

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with the house. Gavin had a companion who lived with him for a number of years--a young man who made his living as a musician--well, what little living he made, that is. My brother was...my brother was homosexual."

"I'm in a committed relationship with another man also, Mrs. Kennedy. Believe me, I understand."

"His...friend just disappeared one day. Packed up and left. Gavin was devastated. It was after that he started seeing things, imagining things, becoming depressed...he killed himself two years to the day after Michael left him."

"Michael...?"

"I don't know his last name."

"No one ever saw or heard from him again?"

"I don't know if no one did, but I know Gavin didn't." She was quiet a moment. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"You don't know how much we appreciate this. We love the house--it's our first house together--and if there's something wrong here...but most especially if there's someone here who isn't at rest...I know it sounds ridiculous and unbelievable, but if there's a spirit trapped here, we want to help." Blair waited through a long silence.

"You think it's Gavin?" she finally asked, her voice very strained now.

"I don't know. But it could be. Did Gavin ever fall--take a really bad fall--that you know of? Here in the house?"

"No, I don't think so. We kept in pretty close touch. He would have mentioned anything significant."

"Mrs. Kennedy--thank you, so much. If we have any other questions, could I call you back again? I can't tell you how much I appreciate your cooperation."

"I suppose that would be all right. But if you don't get me on the phone, please don't leave a message. My husband and my brother didn't see eye to eye, and he'd be very...upset that I was involved in this now."

"I understand. I won't. Thank you so much again."

After breaking the connection, Blair looked over at Jim.

"Suicide? Good reason for a haunting."

"Yeah, but whatever happened to Michael?" Jim narrowed his eyes a moment. "One day, Michael just vanishes. Hmmm."

"You're thinking maybe Michael is the one who fell down the stairs? I wondered about that myself."

"Michael the musician. 1972 to 1988. He may or may not have lived with Taylor all that time. Probably not. We need to look through the missing persons reports for the mid 80s. Gavin killed himself in September of 1987, which means Michael disappeared in September of 1985. I think we're ready to take a little trip to headquarters and look through the missing persons for that time."

"What about Simon?"

"I'll talk to him when we get there."

"You're going to tell him...about...what we talked about?"

"Of course not, sweetheart. That stays with us unless you tell me differently. I was just going to tell him that you had a rough night and I wanted to be with you for a while."

"He must think I'm a real head case." Blair shook his head and sighed. "I guess I am."

"He doesn't think that at all. Anyone who's seen the way you put your life back together doesn't think you're a headcase, Chief."

"I'm glad we talked...well, that I talked. You know, I thought keeping it buried in its box was the best way. But now that I let it out, let all the demons out, and I'm still standing...it's like I don't have to be afraid of it anymore. In a weird way, I owe that to our ghost, whoever he is. If I hadn't thought I saw Vince, I probably wouldn't have been shaken up enough to talk about all that last night."

"I figured it would come out when you were ready. Oddly enough, I don't think forcing someone to relive a trauma is always a good thing. I think you do it when your mind can handle it without shutting down."

"I think you're right." Blair nodded, staring into the dark fireplace in front of them.

"Ready to go?"

"Yup." Blair was out of his chair in a heartbeat, ready to continue their investigation.

"Simon?" Jim poked his head in the captain's office after tapping on the door.

"Jim--didn't expect to see you today. Come in," Simon responded, motioning to a chair across from his desk. "How's the kid doing?" He looked out his window as he sat at the desk and saw Blair, tapping away on Jim's computer.

"Better. He had a rough night--some pretty stiff flashbacks. Let's just say I know now how Watson used the rest of those toys we found in the storage facility." Jim watched as Simon just closed his eyes a moment and took a breath. Neither Jim nor Simon had felt the need to tell Blair about the rest of Watson's collection of trinkets they had found. The perp himself was dead, so there would be no trial, and Blair had been humiliated and interrogated enough about Watson's sexual perversions. Simon had turned his head while Jim took the carton of items out of the evidence lock up and built another little bonfire, similar to the one that had consumed the videos.

"My God," Simon stated gravely. Glancing back out at Blair, Simon shook his head. "He's got a lot of strength. More than I would have guessed when I first met him. He's come through all of this remarkably well. I can't believe I'm saying this, though--I wish he'd talk more." Simon chuckled a little at that, and so did Jim, albeit briefly.

"Watson thought he talked too much, and frequently asked him if he ever shut up. My guess would be he was strongly encouraged to do so more than once." All traces of humor had left Jim's face, and he released a long breath. "It's hard stuff to hear. God, I just want to rip that motherfucker's throat out and I find myself hating him more because he's dead and I can't do it." Jim averted his eyes back to his lap. "I needed the time off as much as Blair did. Maybe more."

"If you ever need to talk about this..."

"I can't do that, Simon. I promised Blair that it was between us. But I appreciate the offer."

"Just don't let it eat you up, Jim. Hate can do that without much effort. It's negative energy."

"That's scary--now you sound like Sandburg," Jim responded, smiling. "He said the same thing, essentially."

"Makes you wonder if there's any part of Blair's head Watson didn't mess with."

"Not very many, no."

"So what're you working on now--or more specifically, what's he working on?" Simon asked with a little laugh, taking in Blair's intense posture and furious pecking at Jim's keyboard. He also knew Jim was ready for the change of subject.

"Well, it seems our house came with a few surprises of its own." Jim smiled a little. "You'll probably think the stress has finally cracked me."

"Just say it."

"The house is haunted." Jim watched Simon, waiting for the other man to burst out laughing. Instead, he wrinkled his brow.

"Haunted?"

"Yeah, haunted. Funny noises, cold spots, dead guys showing up in the hall--haunted."

"You're serious about this?"

"Very. Last night, when I left the stakeout, it wasn't because Blair thought someone live and real was in the house. He saw Watson."

"That could have been his imagination, even a nightmare he mixed up with reality, Jim."

"No. Blair had nightmares on a regular basis when he was in the hospital." Jim took a deep breath at the memory of spending 24 hours a day at Blair's bedside, easing him out of nightmares that tormented him most of the night, and generally taking over anything the nurses would let him do. "In all that time, even with pain meds and tranquilizers and the trauma being that fresh, he never hallucinated. Not once. His mind was crystal clear. Besides, it's more than that. Blair isn't the first one to notice something wrong."

"You had the furnace guy over. I remember Blair telling Joel and me about the cold spots--I think it was Joel who mentioned ghosts," Simon recalled, smiling a little.

"Along with that, when I was there painting and Blair was at the campus, I heard footsteps on more than one occasion. Significant enough that I searched the house probably three or four times, most of those times with my weapon. I was that sure someone was prowling around the halls. Blair didn't hear the footsteps or feel the cold. But he's heard some other sounds, and had brief...well...almost blackouts where he's said something totally off the wall he didn't remember saying later. And last night, we were arguing, and..." Jim sighed and shook his head. "I almost backhanded him."

"What?!" Simon's face was suddenly a mask of shock, tinged with a bit of anger. Jim fully suspected if he had lost it and hit Blair, he'd have one very large, very angry Simon Banks to answer to.

"We were arguing, and the last thing I remember was being downstairs, in the hall. I followed Blair out of the TV room, and then it's all a blank until I found myself standing there with my hand raised as if I were going to backhand him right across the face. Dammit, Simon, you know I'd cut off my arm before I'd hit Blair. I never would have thought of it before, but I really wouldn't think of it now--hell, I try not to even raise my voice to him. The point is, I blacked out this time."

"So maybe you should just sell the place."

"Think about it, Simon. Do you think he'd let me off that easily?" Jim nodded toward Blair, who was now taking notes from something he saw on the screen, then stuck the pencil in his mouth and frantically typed something else in, watching the screen intently.

"Forgive me. I forgot myself," Simon responded, deadpan.

"Actually, I wouldn't feel too comfortable selling the place, knowing what's going on there. It could be dangerous to someone else who bought it. Anyway, we think we may have found the origin of the problem with one of the house's previous owners. He committed suicide in the woods behind the house, but two years before that, his lover disappeared. We're looking for him in the missing persons files."

"Him? The lover was a 'him' also?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that has anything to do with why things are acting up with the two of you in the house?"

"Frankly, sir, I think it's Blair. Blair seems to feel there was a traumatic event in the house--that someone took a fatal fall down the stairs, and that domestic violence was part of the problem. He feels that's why it's...reaching out to him. To us." Jim regarded Simon with a wrinkled brow of his own now. "It surprises me that you're this...accepting of all this."

"Well, Jim, I've had to accept one of my detectives showing up with five superhuman senses, I've approved a partnership between said detective and a civilian anthropologist, then I've had to get used to you and Sandburg as a couple--did you seriously think a ghost was going to shock me?" Simon smiled, seeming relieved to see Jim really laugh for the first time in a long time. Possibly the first time since he'd had to go through Watson's "toy collection".

"I suppose we have put you through the paces, Simon."

"You could say that. So you think the guy who killed himself is haunting the place?"

"Possibly, but I also want to know what happened to the guy he was living with. Most people don't just 'vanish'. They go somewhere. Unless, of course, they're dead."

"How long would you need to run with this? Get it figured out?"

"Probably a few days. We'll find out as much as there is to find out at this late date, and if we can't get an answer in that time, we probably aren't going to."

"Go ahead and take care of it. I'll make sure things are covered here. Get Ryf and Brown up to speed on anything you've got pending right now."

"Sure thing. Thanks, Simon." Jim stood to leave.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Simon spoke up. "When exactly is Blair's dissertation defense?"

"May 17th."

"I know a few of the guys would like to throw him a little bash--think he'd be up for it?"

"I think it would mean a lot to him."

"Okay. We'll put something together and let you know where and when to show up with him."

"Sounds great." Jim smiled and made his way back out to where his partner was enthusiastically taking notes. With a quick scan of the room revealing that no one was really paying attention to them, Jim landed a quick kiss on the top of Blair's head and then sat down next to him.

"What about that fraternization thing? The video cameras?" Blair teased, grinning.

"If they need surveillance videos to figure out we're fraternizing, Chief, this department is in a hell of a lot of trouble."

"Good point." Blair laughed a little and pushed the notepad over toward Jim. "Michael Crandle, 26, caucasian male, 5'7", 155 pounds, long auburn hair, green eyes. Reported missing on October 3, 1985 by a friend who also played in a band with him."

"Let's get the hard copy file on him. Probably a photo in there." Jim got up again and led the way to the file room. Settled back at Jim's desk with the file, Blair studied the young man's photo. Michael was standing with a man who could have been a fellow musician, sporting long, shaggy blond hair. Both men were dressed in garish, glittery stage clothes, smiling widely.

"Check out his mouth," Blair pointed to Michael's smile.

"Yeah?"

"See how it's kind of crooked? There's swelling right here." Blair ran his finger over a small portion of the photo. He'd just gotten swatted, and none too lightly, not long before this was taken."

"Could have been a fight with another musician--you know, barroom brawl kind of thing."

"Not all musicians fight in bars and throw TVS out of hotel windows, you know. Besides, I don't think Michael was really part of a famous, or infamous, group. Anyway, it's not a big bruise. It's more like a swat. You know, back of the hand kind of stuff. The kind of facial hitting you can get away with that almost doesn't show to the casual observer."

"He was reported missing by Brian Nolan, who played bass in the same band Michael played guitar for. Looks like that's Brian in the photo with him," Jim commented, checking the written material in front of him.

"Did they question Gavin Taylor at all?"

"Oh, yeah. His statement's in here. The gist of it is that he hadn't seen Michael since the end of September, and he claims they had a falling out. Said he packed his bags and took off."

"Did they find any of his stuff still at the house?"

"Oh, a few things. According to this, most of the clothes were gone, his guitar was gone. Looks like they pretty much shelved the case."

"Who's the detective?"

"Sherman. He retired in 1991." Jim flipped through the paperwork. "I think we should go see this Brian Nolan. Probably not at the same phone number anymore," Jim commented as he picked up the phone and dialed the number listed.

"Hello?" A female voice came over the line. "May I speak to Brian Nolan please?"

"Just a minute," she responded, then as she held the phone away, "Bri! Phone for you!" Jim waited through the sounds of movement, voices and then the phone being picked up again.

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Nolan, this is Detective Ellison with the Cascade PD. I know this may sound strange, but I'm calling in regard to the Michael Crandle case."

"You found him, huh?" There was a sharp note of sadness in the words, but it was the statement of a man resigned to the news long ago.

"Actually, no. This is more personal for me than it is professional. I just moved into the house he used to live in with Gavin Taylor. I recently found out about Michael's disappearance, and you can probably imagine that it's got me curious, being a cop."

"What do you want to talk to me about? Everything I know's in the file."

"Probably, but I'd like to re-open the case. To do that, though, I have to come up with something that would convince my superiors. Would you be free if we stopped by in say, half an hour?"

"We?"

"My partner and I."

"I guess so. I have a gig tonight, so I don't have long. I have to be at rehearsal in about two hours."

"We're on our way--same address?"

"Yeah, same place."

"Thank you very much." Jim hung up and the two of them hurried out to the truck and headed for the address in the files.

The Crestwood Arms Apartments were a series of contemporary redwood-sided two-story buildings whose exteriors were slightly the worse for wear. Building G was somewhere in the middle of the complex. As soon as they pulled up in front of it, a man with the same mane of long, shaggy blond hair they'd seen in the photo opened the main door and waited for them to walk up the short sidewalk.

"I'm Jim Ellison. We spoke on the phone." Jim shook hands with the other man, who appeared to be about the same age as he was. "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." He waited while the other two men shook hands. "I appreciate you taking time out to talk to us."

"Come on in." He stepped back as they walked past him into the hall. "I'm on the first floor, right at the end of the hall here." He led them back through the door he'd left open, into a cluttered, cramped living room. "Have a seat if you can find one," he said, with a slightly apologetic chuckle and shrug.

"Hi--do you guys want some coffee or anything? I'm just fixing Brian's dinner." A pretty brunette appeared from the kitchen.

"This is my wife, Kelli."

"Hi, Kelli. No thanks, I'm fine," Blair spoke up, and Jim smiled and nodded in agreement. Kelli smiled back and returned to the kitchen, working on something that smelled extremely tasty.

"So, you want to re-open Michael's case?" Brian began, finding a seat himself on the opposite corner of the couch from where Blair sat, across from Jim's position in a matching chair.

"Well, I'm not convinced he just packed up and walked away. Something about it doesn't feel right."

"Was Gavin Taylor abusive to Michael?" Blair asked bluntly. Jim's head snapped around to stare at him, dumbfounded.

"What makes you ask that?" Brian wrinkled his brow.

"You knew they were lovers--Gavin and Michael?"

"Yeah, I knew that. I knew they were screwing each other. I don't think I'd call them lovers." Brian sighed loudly. "Gavin was an overbearing asshole. I never understood why Michael hung out with him, anyway. But who knows?"

"How long were they together?" Jim asked, hoping to get back in the game of asking the questions.

"About two years. You asked if Gavin was abusive--what made you ask that?" Brian pinned Blair with an intense gaze.

"I was in an abusive relationship myself not very long ago, and when I saw the file photo of Michael, it looked like he had a mild fat lip on the left side."

"I knew something wasn't right with them from the start. But Michael was really in love with Gavin. Michael was the best friend I ever had. He was a brilliant musician, dedicated...he really turned my opinions around about a lot of things..." Brian's mind seemed to wander, then he jolted himself back to the conversation at hand. "Anyhow, he wasn't a very big guy, and he had a weak leg from an injury he got as a kid. He just wasn't the physical type. Gavin wasn't all that big, but he was about my height--I'm six feet even--and pretty well-built."

"When did you first notice something?" Blair turned in the seat to face the other man, and Jim finally relaxed into just watching. As long as their witness was talking, he didn't intend to split hairs about who asked the questions.

"We were playing mostly the local club circuit. Michael and I put the band together--we met at a jam session for local bands in 1982 in L.A., and when we found we were both from this area, we decided to jam together, and the rest is history--Shockwave was born."

"Shockwave? Now I know where I've seen you before. Did you used to play at a club called Drifters?" Jim asked. Brian smiled slightly.

"All the time."

"You did a great job covering some Santana stuff, if I'm recalling correctly."

"Thanks, man. Yeah, Michael loved Santana. He spoke a little Spanish, so when he did stuff like 'Oye Como Va', he had the pronunciations down pat."

"I remember him now--the little reddish-haired guy with the big set of pipes." Jim laughed a little, and Brian joined him.

"Best description I've heard of Michael in a long time. Yeah, that was him."

"I never noticed a limp."

"Most people didn't. He moved very well on stage. He was pretty amazing." Brian shook his head, still smiling, the admiration for his missing friend evident in his voice and his expression. "Long time ago... Anyhow, Gavin was at one of our shows, and he hung around and wanted to meet Michael--you know it's weird. Michael was so quiet one on one, but turn him loose on that stage, and he owned it, man." Brian laughed a little. "He hauled that bad leg around so damned fast nobody really noticed it until he slowed down and tried to walk somewhere. It was bad enough to keep him out of sports or anything like that. But he never bitched about it. He just accepted it. Maybe that was the problem--he accepted too much shit without griping about it." Brian paused, running a hand back through his mane of hair. As he was only dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Blair found himself wondering what this man's stage persona was.

"So Michael sang lead and played guitar?" Blair clarified.

"He had magic hands. He could make that guitar talk for him." Brian was still smiling slightly. "You wanted to know when I saw something? Well, backstage, about two months after he'd moved in with Gavin, I walked into the half-assed dressing room they'd set up for us at the club, and he was changing. His back was..." He shook his head. "His back was covered with bruises, like someone had really pounded the shit out of him with either their fists or a weapon of some sort. He said he'd fallen down the steps--which wasn't too surprising. He was sort of clumsy with steps. It wasn't real noticeable unless he was tired, but his bad leg slowed him down, made it awkward."

"And you believed him about the stairs?" Blair asked.

"There wasn't much reason not to, until I saw the way Gavin was acting around him. He'd show up and pick Michael up after the gig, right after, so he couldn't even get a couple swallows of beer with us. He'd show up and call Michael out of there like he was a dog. He did all but yell 'heel' when they walked out. It was just something in his tone. Then Michael showed up at my door--this was before Kelli and I were together. It was about four in the morning. Gavin had beaten the shit out of him for talking to some girls after the gig." Brian took a deep breath, and Jim could well identify with the pain and anger he saw in the other man's icy blue eyes. "I cleaned him up, but he wouldn't let me call the cops--or even a doctor. Get this--he was telling me it was his fault because he was flirting with the girls."

"So Gavin had him convinced that he deserved it?" Jim interjected.

"It wouldn't have been hard to do. Remember that leg injury I mentioned? He was an abused child. His mother walked out, his father was a drunk. There were two kids--Michael and his sister, Tara. The old man apparently wasn't into hitting girls, but hitting boys didn't bother him. Michael's leg was broken in three places at one point, and he never would tell me exactly how it happened. The reason it was a permanent injury is that it went untreated for several days. The old bastard wouldn't take him in to get it set because he was afraid of getting caught. The kids were put in foster homes after that, but Michael was already twelve, so the mindset was there--you know, that someone beating you is okay. So when he ran into Gavin, he was a perfect victim." Brian snickered a little. "Tom Myers--he was our drummer--he and I paid Gavin a little visit while Michael was resting at my place. Oh, man, we kicked his ass but good," he concluded, leaning back in his seat. "I told him if he ever laid a hand on Michael that way again, I'd beat his fucking head in."

"You guys beat him up?"

"Yeah, pretty good. We were furious. You'd've had to see Michael. I mean, shit, the guy was just one big bruise. Not to mention the fact that the son of a bitch raped him at the same time."

"Oh, my God," Blair murmured, catching Brian's attention.

"You too?" he asked, surprising Blair a little at being on the receiving end of the questions.

"Yeah, more than once," he responded softly.

"I was so goddamned mad that Tom had to pull me off the bastard and drag me out to the car. I would've killed him right there with my bare hands and not lost any sleep over it. Dumb thing to tell the cops, huh?" Brian laughed, rolling his eyes.

"I've been down that road," Jim responded. "See, Blair and I are partners in every sense of the word. We bought the house together."

"You know the score then. So what happened to the asshole that was beating on you?"

"He's dead," Blair responded simply.

"You were pissed, man," Brian said, turning back to look at Jim.

"By the time I shot him, I had no choice. He was going to kill Blair."

"Geez. Sounds like a great guy." Brian let out a long breath before continuing. "Anyway, Michael stayed with me a couple days, and then the bullshit started. Gavin was calling, whining on the phone to him how he couldn't get by without him, blah, blah, blah, blah--the usual shit. Michael really loved the asshole, so he packed up and went back home. He knew we were there for him, but he didn't want the help. He wanted to be with Gavin, so there wasn't much we could do, even though he had bruises all the time. When Michael disappeared--what a crock of shit--anyway, when he supposedly 'disappeared', I went out to see Gavin, and we had it out. I told him I knew he'd killed Michael, and someway, somehow, I'd figure it out and nail his ass."

"Why were you so sure he'd killed him?" Jim asked.

"Because Michael was with me the night before he disappeared. He had asked me if he could come home with me, and if we could leave right from the stage. I knew it had something to do with the asshole, so I went along. And all I had to do was watch him on stage to know he was really messed up. He hardly moved at all."

"What did he say was the reason?" Blair leaned forward a little.

"We came back here, and Michael told me he just needed a couple nights away from Gavin. He finally told me that Gavin had gotten rough with him--which meant he'd raped him again, but Michael didn't use the 'R' word-- and he was bleeding and he was scared something major was damaged."

"Why didn't you take him to a hospital at some point along the way?" Jim asked, still incredulous that abuse cases like Blair's and Michael's could go untreated for so long.

"He was embarrassed, and he didn't want to report it. He figured the cops would make a laughing stock out of him, and the hospital would report the assault so he couldn't avoid their involvement in it."

"Why did he think the cops would make a laughing stock out of him?" Jim challenged.

"Think about it. A long-haired hard rock musician--a gay one at that. You tell me how well he'd have been treated by your colleagues." Brian shook his head. "I had to drag it out of him what was wrong. He wouldn't have told me at all except I heard him up moving around through the night, and he was really scared because the bleeding wasn't stopping." Both Brian and Jim glanced over at Blair, who was quietly wiping at his eyes. "I really didn't want him going back to that jerk, and for a few hours there, I thought he wasn't going to. I told him we'd all go out to the house with him while Gavin was at work and get his stuff. He agreed to that. I had a full-time day job at the time, so I had to go to work. He was feeling better by the time I had to leave, and the bleeding had stopped, so he stayed up long enough to lock the deadbolt behind me after I left and he said he was going back to bed. I told him to sleep in my room during the day since there was a phone on the night stand in case he needed to make an emergency call--you know, for Gavin showing up, or if he didn't feel good or something."

"So what went wrong?" Jim asked.

"I don't know. I called home about ten-thirty--I left home about seven-thirty--and there was no answer. I tried a couple more times, and then I went home to check. He was gone when I got here. There was a note from him on the fridge that said he had changed his mind and wanted to get away from here, work things out on his own. To this day, I don't buy that. I didn't buy it then. I don't buy it now."

"What do you think happened?" Blair seemed to have reined in his emotions from reacting to the news of Michael's sexual abuse.

"I think Gavin came and got him, made him write the note, and hauled him back to the house. Probably beat the shit out of him and either got carried away..." Brian swallowed hard, and for the first time, Jim could detect traces of tears in the man's eyes, "...or intentionally murdered him."

"He fell down the stairs," Blair stated quietly. Brian's head snapped around to face him. "I heard it," Blair met the eyes with an unfaltering gaze. "The reason we're here is because there is a presence, maybe more than one presence, in that house. And it, or they, have been trying to communicate with both of us."

"Hold on a minute. You're trying to tell me that Michael is haunting your house?"

"Yes," Blair stated simply, not flinching under the disbelieving words.

"Possibly Gavin too," Jim chimed in. "Gavin committed suicide on the property, and Michael died in the house--at least Blair thinks so, based on his experiences."

"And what exactly were your experiences?"

"Cold spots, footsteps. No one else felt it or heard it but me."

"And when Michael tried to communicate--"

"Gavin interfered like he always did," Kelli spoke up from the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "Sorry to interrupt, but I really do find all this spiritual stuff very fascinating." She sat on the arm of the couch next to her husband. "My grandmother is a medium."

"Really?" Blair looked over at Jim, then back to Kelli. "Does she do seances?"

"Yes, quite regularly."

"Do you think she'd do one for us?" Blair asked, hoping Jim wasn't too furious with him for asking.

"I can ask her. I think she would."

"Hold up a minute," Brian interjected. "All this mumbo jumbo about seances and mediums is all real nice and everything, but--" "Waterfall," Blair said quietly.

"What did you just say?" Brian stared at him, brow wrinkled. Jim just watched the scene with shocked interest.

"I don't know why it keeps going through my head, but I keep thinking of the word, 'waterfall'--especially when I'm upstairs at home."

"Oh, man." Brian stood up and walked slowly toward the window that looked out on the parking area. With his back to the group, he said, "No one would know that but Michael and me."

"Know what?" Jim finally asked, unable to remain silent any longer.

"Waterfall. It was a song--or the start of one. Michael had this phenomenal idea for a guitar riff, and it sounded just like a waterfall--delicate, intricate, but still powerful. When I told him that's what it reminded me of, he got this big smile on his face and said 'yeah, that's it'. And we wrote some lyrics, got a basic melody down--but it was our project. No one else in the band was in on it, or knew about it." He turned back to face Blair. "Either Michael's alive, and he told you, or you did talk to his ghost. Nobody else would know that, man. Nobody."

"He's not alive, Brian. He died the day he disappeared," Blair replied. "I wish that weren't true."

"Now can I call grandma?" Kelli asked, looking directly at Brian.

"Yeah. Call her, honey. Right now."

Concluded in part five.

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into five parts for easier loading.  
Shadows of the Past

by Candy Apple  
Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part four.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST - part five  
by Candy Apple

Jim glanced at the clock for the fifth time in so many minutes. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was lying in bed when he couldn't sleep and Blair could. To add insult to injury, the warm, cuddly body he wanted to mold himself around was sprawled in some ungodly position that defied Jim to figure a way to hold him. And he was facing the other way. And he was wearing boxers and a tank shirt. Not even a good set up for the spectator sport of Blair-watching that Jim enjoyed so much.

The younger man was sleeping deeply, not having stirred at any of Jim's unnecessarily loud sighs or yawns.

Jim turned his attentions back to the ceiling, contemplating the upcoming seance. The whole thing seemed like so much theatrical crap. He glanced back at Blair. //Why are you dragging us through all this stupid shit?// he found himself silently asking the sleeping man. His gaze returned to the ceiling. //Seances. Next, he'll want to dance naked in the moonlight, praying to some pagan deity to purify the house.//

//Blair naked in the moonlight.// Jim looked over toward the window. //Got the moonlight covered, Blair's here, it's just the naked part that's missing.// He re-evaluated his lover's sleeping position, and with an evil little smile, began his work.

Blair stirred, then came awake at a familiar--and unwelcome-- sensation. He was on his stomach on the bed, and while he slept, his underwear had somehow vanished. He was pressed into the mattress by the hot weight of a much larger body.

"Jim?" There was a little panic in the voice. He almost never dozed off on his stomach because during his time with Watson, he'd always come to in this same situation when he did. "You're up," a voice growled in his ear. "So'm I."

It wasn't Jim's voice.

"Jim!" Blair called at the top of his lungs.

"Screaming his name while I'm fucking you, huh?" The voice sneered. "When I'm done with you, you won't remember your own name, bitch."

Blair's stomach contracted and threatened to expel its contents at the feeling of large hands roughly exploring places only Jim was supposed to touch. He consciously worked at calming himself and turned his attentions to figuring a way out of his dire circumstances. As he breathed as deeply as he could, he realized that the body on top of his smelled and felt very much like Jim's. It was just the behavior that was wrong.

Strong hands seized his waist and pulled the lower portion of his body upward, encouraging Blair's knees under him. It was then that he struck. A strangled yelp of pain and sudden absence of the presence followed a powerful backward kick that Blair assumed hit somewhere very close to the attacker's genitals.

When he sat up and turned around, Jim was on the floor, his face a mask of pain, clutching a very significant part of his anatomy with one hand while holding onto the edge of the mattress with the other. "What the hell...?" he ground out, finally looking up at Blair, still panting.

"Jim!" Blair slid out of bed and crouched near his fallen lover. "Are you okay, man? Oh, God, I didn't mean to hurt you! Did I do any damage?"

"Will you just shut the fuck up a minute?" Jim grunted in pain and finally made his way back up onto the bed. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Why did you...you stripped me, man. And you were on top of me. You wouldn't let me up, and you sounded like...like him," Blair blurted. "You called me a...a bitch, just like he used to."

"Oh, man!" Jim flopped back on the bed, still breathing heavily. "What the hell's gotten into you, Sandburg? If this is your idea of a joke--"

"I don't joke about Vince. You know that."

"I didn't call you 'bitch' and I sure as hell wouldn't strip you naked and pin you down in your sleep."

"Well you did, all right?" Blair shot back angrily, getting up and snatching his robe off the nearby chair.

"Maybe I just rolled on you. I was thinking about holding you but I couldn't figure out how to do it the way you were sleeping and--"

"You figured it out, all right." Blair tied his robe and stormed out of the room. Jim heard the bathroom door slam behind him.

"Oh, for God's sake, Blair." He hauled his still-pained body off the bed and went to the door of the bathroom. His anger evaporated at the sound of choking sobs from the other side of the door. "Blair? Sweetheart, come on, open the door," Jim pleaded, rattling the locked knob. "I'm sorry. If I did all that, I honestly didn't mean it." The crying continued but Blair made no move to unlock the door. "I know I scared you, baby. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do anything. The last thing on my mind was that I wished I could hold you or that you'd turn over so I could get close to you. You had your underwear on, last thing I remember." Jim waited through a few sniffles, then winced at the sounds of retching. "Blair? Are you all right? Blair?"

"Leave me alone," came the strained reply.

"Look, I don't know how to explain this, because I honestly don't remember doing anything to you. I can only imagine how that made you feel. God, I'd never do something like that to you, sweetheart. You know that."

"You said I could always say 'no'," Blair responded, still crying. "I can't say 'no' when I'm sleeping, man. You gave me no choices--just like Vince. Were you even going to use lube?" Blair demanded brokenly.

"I don't know," Jim replied honestly. "I don't know because I didn't intend to do anything." Jim waited a few beats, hating to hear Blair crying on the other side of a locked door because of him. "Are you okay, baby?"

"Don't 'baby' me. Just leave me alone, dammit!"

"I'm not leaving you here alone, Chief. I'll sleep in the guest room if you want but I won't leave. There's too much weird shit going on in this house for that."

"Weird shit?" Blair demanded, swinging open the door. His pale, tear-dampened face was etched in anger. "You stripping me naked and trying to fuck me while I'm sleeping is weird shit, man. Gavin and Michael look like a walk in the park by comparison." Blair pushed past Jim and headed for the bedroom. "As for where you sleep, I don't give a shit." Blair yanked open a dresser drawer and started throwing clean underwear and a couple of t-shirts in a pile on the bed, then moved to the closet.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm doing what the hell I should have done when Vince raped me the first time. I'm getting the hell out before I really get hurt." Blair stormed over to the closet and pulled out a suitcase, opening it and tossing the items on the bed into it haphazardly.

"Will you just slow down and think about this for a minute? Remember what happened on the stairs? I was about to hit you but didn't remember how I got there?"

"I bought that line of bullshit until this happened. At least when Vince was abusing me, he owned up to it. You're trying to blame it on a fucking ghost." Blair swiped angrily at the tears on his face and pushed past Jim to pick up a couple items off the dresser. "Do you mind getting out of here? I want to get dressed and the last thing I wanna be is naked in the same room with you right now."

"I'll be downstairs," Jim responded quietly, pulling on his own robe and heading for the hall.

Jim sat in the living room in a daze. Beyond the mind-numbing shock of knowing that something else lurking in the house was capable of controlling his behavior was the equally massive shock that this time, Blair didn't understand that. What he had done under the spirit's influence--presumably Gavin's influence rather than the reputedly peaceful Michael--had been so traumatic for his lover that the younger man couldn't see past it to the truth.

His morose thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Blair making his way slowly into the living room from the stairs, still in his robe. He wordlessly approached Jim where he sat in one of the room's ornate chairs and knelt at his feet.

"I'm so sorry about the way I acted upstairs," Blair began, keeping his eyes downcast. "Whatever you want to say to me...if you want me to leave anyway, I understand. I deserve it."

"Anything I want to say, huh?" Jim asked, moved almost to tears by the contrite figure at his feet. The curl-covered head nodded slightly. "Would 'I love you' work?" Jim reached down and raised Blair's face with a gentle hand under his chin. "Come here, huh?" Blair rose from the floor and Jim pulled his lover into his lap and a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry, mine. I didn't mean it." Blair wrapped his arms tightly around Jim's neck. "I don't blame you if you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad, sweetheart. It's okay. The last thing I want is for you to go anywhere."

"I acted like such an ass."

"What made you change your mind?" Jim kissed the side of Blair's head and rubbed his back in long strokes.

"Michael. I...I was looking in the dresser mirror, and I didn't see myself. I saw him. And he told me to stay and fight. That my leaving was what Gavin wanted. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I saw."

"I believe you." Jim closed his eyes and buried his nose in Blair's hair. All this talk of spirits and ghosts and psychics and seances...Jim shuddered.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Nobody's sorrier than I am, baby. Do you know how I feel to have done that to you?"

"But you didn't do it. It wasn't your fault. I should've understood that."

"Blair, look at me." Jim smiled when the younger man pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "You fought me. You fought back, you told me off, and you packed your stuff. You know what that means?" Jim asked, smiling a little at the puzzled expression in front of him. "It means I just tangled with the old Blair. The one who could get good and pissed off and tell me so. You didn't back down from me, baby. Not even in a situation that scared and upset you like that did."

"I didn't, did I?" Blair responded, smiling a little.

"You read me off but good, Chief."

"And I wasn't afraid--just mad." Blair seemed to be reviewing the situation in his mind. Then he became troubled again. "But I kicked you."

"Ooh, yeah, you did. I always told you there was plenty of strength in those sturdy legs of yours. Plenty of strength, man," Jim added, chuckling a bit regretfully.

"Did I hurt you a lot? Oh, man--if I did any damage...I couldn't live with that."

"You didn't do damage, Chief. You just," Jim cleared his throat, "left your impression on things. I'll be okay tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He guided Blair's head back down to his shoulder and continued to cuddle his lover close. "You're on your way, sweetheart. You're really beating this thing, once and for all."

"Michael thinks that Gavin is trying to drive me away, so we won't do the seance."

"Do you communicate with Michael a lot?" Jim asked, toying with a few soft curls.

"Not in so many words. But I feel him here all the time. He's a friendly, warm presence. Not like Gavin."

"Gavin is the cold spots," Jim added quietly, still stroking Blair's hair lightly.

"And all the ugly things that happen."

"He's the one communicating with me. Shit, I wonder what that means?"

"That you're protecting me, and he has to either turn us against each other or get you out of the picture somehow in order to get to me before I help Michael. He never let him have help before, why would he now?" Blair sighed. "Besides, Gavin was probably the sneaky ghost. He didn't want to be detected, but because of your senses, you felt the cold and heard the footsteps when he wasn't planning on communicating." Blair shifted a bit in Jim's lap to make himself more comfortable.

"You want to go back upstairs to bed?"

"No. I mean, I'm tired, but I don't want to be in that bed right now."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm just glad you reacted the way you did. If I had forced you that way...I couldn't have lived with that."

"You wouldn't have gone all the way with it."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're stronger than Gavin, but mostly because you love me too much to do that to me."

"I wish I had your faith. I've got to tell you, Chief...losing control of myself that way--" Jim was cut off with gentle fingers pressed to his lips.

"You have to have faith, Jim. You can't be afraid of Gavin and you can't let him think you are. Or that he's made progress. You can beat him, but you have to believe that. All your power is in that belief, that faith."

"All my power is right here in my lap, wrapped up in a blue bathrobe." Jim kissed the fingers he had moved from his mouth and squeezed Blair's hand.

"Our power is each other," Blair responded softly.

"Let's go back to the TV room and stretch out on the old couch in there. We can leave the TV on if we want."

"Might make it seem a little...friendlier."

"Okay," Jim agreed as Blair slid off the larger man's lap back to his own two feet.

As they shifted and wiggled to find the right sleeping position, Jim mentally cursed himself for turning this into a TV room at the last minute and having the one spare bed in the house on the second floor.

Blair stood at the kitchen window, drinking his morning coffee and wondering when he'd get around to planting anything in the weedy mess that occupied the land where a garden belonged. Ellen had urged him to get at the planting of the roses if there were going to be any, but for now, it was a weed patch. Jim had to testify in a court case that day, so Blair planned to use the time while he was gone to do a little more reading up on spiritualism and mediums, Blair refilled his coffee cup and headed for the study. As he arrived at his large antique desk, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Blair Sandburg, please?" A woman's voice came over the line.

"Speaking."

"This is Mary Ellen Watson...Vince's mother."

There was a period of silence. Blair was stunned, and honestly didn't know what to say to that. Sensing that they could be there like that all day, Mrs. Watson spoke up again.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm in town to visit friends, and I hoped maybe I could see you."

"Why?" Blair asked directly. He couldn't fathom why Vince's mother would have any interest in seeing him, considering that her son died at the hands of Blair's current lover--even if it was unavoidable.

"That's a fair question. I would like to meet you, and I have a few things I'd like to talk to you about. Would you meet me for lunch?"

"Ah...yeah, okay," Blair agreed, somewhat hesitantly.

"Is Mandarin House all right? It's the only restaurant I'm familiar with here, to be honest," she said, a slight smile in her voice.

"That's fine. What time?"

"Would 11:30 be all right?"

"Fine. I'll meet you there. How will I know you?"

"I have short brown hair and glasses, and I'm wearing a blue flowered blouse."

"Okay. I've got long--"

"I know what you look like. Vince sent me photos."

"He did? Okay then, I'll see you at 11:30."

Blair stared at the phone for a long time after making the lunch date with Mrs. Watson. Part of him didn't want to go, another part felt like he should be calling Jim and talking it over, and another part felt compelled to do it. The third part won, and he leaned back in the desk chair, reading a book on mysticism and spiritualism he'd plucked from his expanse of shelves before the phone rang.

Mrs. Watson was a rather ordinary-looking woman, average height, slightly heavy, dressed just as she said she would be. Blair didn't know what he really had expected--perhaps some kind of fanged she-devil? Something about Vince having a normal, ordinary mother didn't ring true. She should have been something remarkable, startling...and she certainly shouldn't have looked kind and pleasant.

"Mrs. Watson?" Blair approached the woman he assumed was Vince's mother as she sat on a padded bench in the restaurant's foyer, waiting for him. Her head snapped up quickly, and she was on her feet in a moment.

"Thank you for coming--is it all right if I call you Blair? Please call me Mary Ellen."

"Sure, Mary Ellen," Blair responded, smiling and shaking her offered hand. After a petite, attractive Asian girl seated them at a remote table in the dimly lit Chinese restaurant, he spoke again. "I was really stunned to hear from you."

"I didn't expect you'd come," she replied honestly.

"I don't exactly know why I did. I guess part of it was curiosity...maybe another part is this hope I have to find some kind of closure, even though I'm not sure that's possible."

The conversation paused while they absent-mindedly ordered the lunch special. Food was the last thing of importance to Blair, and he guessed Mary Ellen probably felt the same way.

"First of all, I wanted to thank you for not suing my son's estate. I know that was an option."

"What would it have solved?" Blair paused to take a drink of his water. "You didn't do anything to me. And there's nothing about what I went through with Vince that money was going to fix."

"I wanted you to know that I believed what you said. What you accused Vince of doing. I loved him very much, but I still know what he was capable of, and maybe I just want to apologize for not doing something to stop him sooner. After Keith." The last words were barely audible, and she didn't appear remotely interested in the plate of food the waitress set in front of her. Blair nodded and smiled slightly at the girl as she delivered his meal, and then looked back at Mrs. Watson.

"You knew that he killed Keith?"

"No, I didn't know that. I don't know it now. But I met Keith, and I knew Vince was beating him. I was just grateful my son wasn't in jail. I never thought it would go that far. I live with that every day... that maybe that young man might have lived if I had just intervened."

"A lot of people knew about my situation, but intervention doesn't help when the victim won't cooperate. The cops showed up at the apartment every few days when we were fighting, and I covered for Vince every time. Unless Keith was prepared to press charges and walk away from Vince, your interference might have only exacerbated the situation."

"How do you mean?" She wrinkled her brow slightly.

"How frank do you want me to be about Vince?"

"Tell me the truth."

"Vince used to punish me for the cops showing up. I mean, I didn't call them, but the neighbors did, because I knew almost everyone in the neighborhood after I'd lived there a few weeks--I mean being in a four-unit, the other three tenants were so close to us that we kind of got to know each other by accident. And then there was the elderly man behind us--I used to shovel his driveway and I did his lawn in the summer. It was no big thing--it was a tiny yard anyway. The point is, it got so I had a few friends in that neighborhood, and when they heard what was going on, and I kept showing up with either new bruises or I had to beg off doing Mr. Franklin's driveway because I was in too much pain to lift the shovel, they got angry...upset. So they called the cops on Vince every time he burped off schedule."

"And he took that out on you?"

"Every time. It was a bigger favor when they kept out of it, really." Blair pushed a couple colorful vegetables around on his plate. "So Keith might have appreciated your concern, but he'd have paid dearly for it, and he probably wouldn't have cooperated."

"I know you'll find this hard to believe, but Vince really did love you."

"You're right, I do find that a bit hard to swallow," Blair said softly. "Sometimes I thought he did, but then he'd hit me or do something else so...sadistic...and he enjoyed seeing me in pain." Blair pushed the plate away and sat back in the chair. "Hurting me was entertainment. How could he have loved me? I'm sorry to ask this of you. I know you don't have answers, and I don't really want to take it out on you."

"When Vince was born, I was a widow. His real father died in a car accident about three months before he was born. I was lonely, didn't have much money, and had a new baby. I made the mistake of marrying a man just for the sake of having a husband and father figure for Vince." She paused to nibble at some of her rice, but soon chased what little she'd eaten with a drink of water and continued. "He worked nights, so it was perfect. He took care of Vince through the day while I worked. I'm a legal secretary, so I had to work days. We were together until Vince was 8 years old. I never realized that there was anything...wrong going on until then."

"Wrong? Was your husband abusing him?"

"I should have seen the signs. But Vince didn't say anything...and you have to understand, Blair--those days were so different. Children weren't as...as 'street smart' about abuse as they are now, and parents weren't as wary. At least this parent wasn't. It didn't all come to a head until he killed Vince's cat."

"He killed Vince's cat?" Blair repeated, shocked.

"It was a stray cat, a grey and white. I'm not sure what it was. But Vince found it in the field behind the school, and with no collar or tags, it was a stray, so he kept it. Marv, my husband, didn't know I'd come home early from work--I wasn't feeling well. He was yelling at Vince about something--I think something the cat did. Marv grabbed it and broke its neck--right there in front of Vince."

"My God," Blair almost whispered, covering his mouth briefly.

"What was most frightening was Vince's reaction. There was none. It was as if he were mute." She looked out the window that wasn't far from their table, and watched the cars moving about on the road in front of the restaurant. "When I looked into Vince's eyes, after Marv left the house, it was frightening. His eyes were dead. He was alive, present, coherent--but his eyes were dead...cold."

"I remember that look," Blair responded, shivering a little despite the stuffiness of the room. "But once in a while, I'd see something more--like something trying to break free."

"Vince never told me much. He wouldn't tell me anything until Marv left for good. I always expected a lot of problems with my ex-husband stalking us or harassing us. But he didn't. He moved on. I told him I wouldn't press child abuse charges provided he never came near either one of us again. He agreed, and I never did see him after we signed the divorce papers."

"Did that abuse go on all those years?"

"Yes. Apparently, Marv picked up the pace as Vince got older. I did notice some bruises sometimes that I didn't understand, but children fall, hurt themselves. I didn't see every bruise as a signal he was being beaten."

"But he was?"

"Yes, and punished in other, more sadistic ways. Marv used to lock him in closets, break his toys... I didn't realize that my husband was a paranoid schizophrenic when I married him."

"Dear God...how did you find out--I mean besides the obvious?"

"His sister. When I was going through the divorce, she warned me about being careful dealing with him--getting him angry. She told me he had been diagnosed that way shortly after he graduated from high school. He was supposed to be on medication for it, but apparently, he didn't like the side effects, so he stopped taking it, and stopped going to the doctor." She shook her head slowly. "I thought that by marrying again, having a father there for Vince...I thought it would be better for him than being with babysitters, or being raised without any male influence."

"Was there sexual abuse involved?"

"All along, he was...he was touching him."

"Molesting him?"

"Yes." Mary Ellen nodded solemnly. "I put Vince in counseling groups, paid therapists. He seemed to get better, to adjust. He excelled in sports in high school--predominantly wrestling. He went off to college, finally, and then one day he told me he was gay. I wasn't thrilled, but I wasn't overly upset. He'd been through so much I was just grateful he was okay. Or at least I thought he was. Then I started noticing how violently angry he got with his...partners. With Keith, it was the worst. He did the same kinds of things to him that Marv had done to Vince. He was sadistic. Keith liked to do jigsaw puzzles. He'd get most of one done, and Vince would break it up. He killed Keith's parrot." She took a sip of water before continuing. "They were having a fight about something, and he did to the parrot what Marv did to his cat."

"How do you know? Did he tell you?"

"Yes. Vince was quite open with me. Strangely enough, he used to confide things to me...things that should have resulted in my contacting the authorities. But I didn't." She looked down at her neglected plate. "He said he got angry with Keith for seeing an old friend without telling him--a male friend--and when Keith didn't back down from the argument, Vince killed his pet."

"Didn't you ever think of trying to suggest therapy to Vince--as an adult?"

"I did suggest it. And then I wouldn't hear from him for months. He always reacted violently, yelling and insisting he didn't need an 'overpriced headshrinker'."

"I always felt there was something that had to have happened to make Vince act the way he did. There was one time...when he got carried away. Afterwards, he was actually...nice to me for a couple of days. It was like he really cared that he'd hurt me."

"I've tried to tell you, Blair. He loved you. He told me once that he had finally found 'the one'." She made little quote marks in the air with her fingers. "He said you were smart, funny, kind, and that you understood him." She smiled a little sadly. "I was relieved. I never understood how to get through to Vince. So if you could do it, I was delighted that he'd found you."

"Did you know he was beating me?"

"No. Not until he was arrested."

"You bailed him out of jail."

"I'm his mother, Blair. I loved my son even if he was messed up. I felt so responsible for what happened to him as a child. For the nightmares he probably lived that he would never tell me about. How could I sit in judgement of him?" She paused as the waitress removed both barely touched plates and refilled their water glasses. "Ironically, I didn't want him in a jail environment, because I didn't want him to experience something similar to what he had done to you. I don't care if he was 6'4" and solid muscle. He was still my little boy and I didn't want him hurt."

"What about your husband now?"

"Don is a wonderful man. I met him right after Vince left for college. We had both had bad previous marriages, but this one has been very happy. He supported me in trying to help Vince, even though he didn't think much of what he was doing. In the end, I suppose I helped him right into his grave. If he'd been in jail, he wouldn't have been shot."

"He came after me. He stabbed Jim and left him for dead in the alley. He was holding a gun to my head--Jim didn't have any choices."

"I know that. At first, all I could think of was that it was a revenge killing. That your current lover was extracting payment for what Vince had done to you."

"Jim wouldn't do that. Though I know the anger and pain inside of him from not doing it is a demon he lives with every day."

"I can't expect you to forgive him, but I thought you should know that he did love you, as much as he could love anyone. And I wanted you to have these." She pulled a small bundle of envelopes out of her purse and handed them to Blair.

"What are they?"

"Letters Vince wrote to me during your time with him. He didn't mention anything about the abuse. But those are the words of a man very much in love. There are also a few photos in there he sent me of the two of you together. I guess it's important to me that you know this, and see those, because I want you do have maybe even one little memory of my son that isn't painful or dark or ugly. I loved him with all my heart, and God help me for saying this, but he wasn't fit to be in a relationship. The things my second husband did to him drove him insane. I knew he wasn't sane from the moment I ordered Marv out of the house. It was in his eyes, his reactions. His obsession with wrestling later--and some of the violent behavior that got him in trouble throughout high school. Vince loved Marv. He'd cared for Vince every day I was at work for eight years. So Vince learned that love was half of a horrible mirror image--the other half being sadism."

"I wish I could say something to all this, Mary Ellen. I know there was something more inside of Vince than the monster I saw most of the time. And we had a few times scattered through our relationship that weren't bad. But they were imbedded in so much anguish that I don't want to travel through all that to remember them. Maybe someday...maybe I'll be able to read these and look at the photos. But I've had a real tenuous hold on my own sanity since all this happened, and I think a trip down memory lane right now would be more than I could handle."

"Would you keep them? Just put them away somewhere, and maybe when that time comes, you'll look at them? I know that Vince's love isn't something you want, it isn't even a memory you want, but his feelings for you were real. He was sick, Blair. As sick as someone who has a disease. Vince was destroyed very early in his life. But there was a little part of him that survived, and that part loved you. Maybe if you can look at those someday, it will help you to know that the violence against you wasn't driven by hate--at least not hate for you. It was anger and hostility...and a very perverse perspective on love."

"I know this had to be difficult for you to come here, and meet with me. I appreciate what you're trying to do. I just can't give you anything. I can't say that it's okay, that I forgive him. I've tried so hard to do that, you know?" Blair paused, feeling tears sting his eyes. "I've wanted to be a big enough person to do that. I mean, I know part of this was my own fault. I cared for Vince, but I didn't really love him. It was always only Jim. And I'm so sorry I hurt Vince that way. At a point, he realized it, and the abuse got...it was...unthinkable sometimes. He was angry with me, angry that he couldn't force my feelings to go away."

"It was wrong of you to use him, if that's what you were doing. But he still had no right to beat you."

"I didn't mean to use him. I never thought Jim would want me that way, and I thought it was over forever. I never expected to love anyone that way again, so I didn't feel at the time like I was doing anything bad to Vince by getting together with him. I tried to be a good partner. I just couldn't help how I felt. I never said anything, but once he got a hold of that information--he listened in on a phone call with my mom--he got much worse."

"I can't change what he was or what he did, anymore than I could change what Marv had done to him. But at least now you know the whole story, and someday, when you feel able, read the letters. It might be your only chance to get to know that person you say you saw in Vince's eyes once in awhile. He did exist. He wrote those letters. He fell in love with you."

"I'll try." Blair forced a little smile.

"I should probably be going. My plane leaves in two hours."

"Back to L.A.?"

"San Diego, now. We moved last year."

"Mary Ellen, I don't have any bad feelings toward you. And I really appreciate you coming here and telling me about what happened to Vince. It makes things a lot clearer...maybe someday it will make it easier."

"Thank you for meeting me. You really didn't have any reason to."

"Maybe it was for the man I saw hiding inside of Vince--the one who could have been a good partner." Blair stood up as she did. Over his protests, she paid the bill.

"Well, Blair, I want to wish you the best." She extended her hand as they stood in the sunny parking lot. He shook it, smiling as he thought immediately of Jim.

"I've got that. I'm very happy. I wish the same for you."

"It's getting easier. Don is very supportive." She forced an answering smile. "Take care of yourself."

"You too. And I'll take care of these too," Blair said, motioning to the letters he held.

When Mrs. Watson had pulled out of the parking lot in her rental car, presumably heading back to rejoin her husband at their hotel to leave for the airport, Blair sat in his car and stared at the letters on the passenger seat. Curiosity getting the better of him, he looked through the letters for the photos she mentioned. The first one he found was tucked in with a letter, and showed Vince with his muscled arm around his smaller lover. The photo had been taken at a Rainier Homecoming party following a victorious football game.

For a long time, Blair sat alone in the car, staring at the photo and finally crying at the falseness of the smile that had been plastered on his own face. Tucking the photo back in its envelope, he resolved not to explore the pile again anytime soon. Blair felt the pain for the child Vince had been, but his own pain was far too fresh to spend a lot of time reminiscing and looking for the good in his tormentor.

He started up the engine and headed for home.

When Jim arrived home from his dull day hanging around the courthouse to give only brief testimony, he expected to hear the rhythmic clicking of the computer keyboard coming from the study, or smell some evidence of dinner. Neither stimulus reached his senses. Instead, he heard Blair's heartbeat, and followed it upstairs to the master bedroom, where he found the younger man curled up on the bed, fully dressed, lashes wet with tears as he slept with Jim's bathrobe held tightly in his arms.

"Wake up, sweetheart. It's me." Jim leaned forward and kissed his lover's forehead. Blair stirred and opened his moist eyes. "What's the matter, Chief?"

"I saw Vince's mother today," Blair responded softly. "I thought I was okay. Guess not."

"What happened?" Jim kicked off his shoes, removed his holster and stretched out on his side so he was facing Blair on the bed.

"She called and asked if I'd meet her. She was really nice about everything. She told me Vince had been abused by his stepfather--since he was a toddler until he was eight. Lots of real sadistic stuff, I guess."

"You always thought something had happened to make him the way he was," Jim replied, lifting a stray curl out of Blair's eyes.

"Yeah, well, it did. And she gave me some photos and stuff that Vince had sent her. She said he really loved me. I just don't want to think about this anymore."

"She shouldn't have harassed you."

"She wasn't harassing me. She just asked if I'd meet her for lunch, and I was glad to find out some of the stuff she told me--like the fact that Vince had been abused. At least now I know there was some reason behind it. But I looked at this photo, and it just brought it all back."

"I think we can lose the robe. You've got the real thing right here, baby." Jim gently disentangled the robe from Blair's clutches and pulled the smaller body against his, wrapping both arms tightly around Blair and rocking him slightly.

"I needed to feel close to you."

"You could have called me."

"You couldn't just take off when you were due to testify just because I'm having a bad day." Blair clung to Jim fiercely. "Tell me he's gone. That he can't come back."

"It's all over, sweetheart. He's gone. He won't ever come back. He can't. I'm right here."

"Would you try something with me?"

"Anything, angel. Anything at all."

"Would you make love to me...with me on my stomach?"

"We've never done it that way--because of...well, bad memories."

"I know. But since I told you everything about...about when...about the night he...when he tortured me, it doesn't have power over me anymore. And I'm thinking, the one thing I can't handle is that feeling of being pinned down."

"You don't have to handle it. We're doing just fine with a whole lot of other positions."

"But if I could...if we could make love that way, and it would be beautiful and gentle and good...then the last demon would be gone. He'd really be without power over me anymore."

"The minute you say 'stop', we stop."

"I know. Just stay here a minute. I want to...oh, man, this is embarrassing to really say it." Blair blushed and smiled a little as he sat up.

"What?"

"I want to...to strip for you."

"Are you sure?" Jim knew Watson had made Blair put on a show for him when they had sex, and as much as Jim loved seeing Blair nude and relished the thought of watching him undress, the last thing he wanted him to feel was exploited.

"I'm sure. I want to do the things...all those special things...for somebody who loves me."

"Let's get the bed turned back first," Jim suggested practically, getting up and pulling at the spread while Blair moved to the other side and helped. In moments, the bed was turned back.

"Don't get undressed, okay? That's going to be my job." Blair smiled and flexed his eyebrows a little. Jim reached over to the CD player by the bed and started a little quiet piano music in the background.

"We ought to have a little mood for this, sweetheart," he explained softly.

Blair stood there a little uncertainly, eyeing Jim where he sat on the edge of the bed. Then he reached for the buttons of his brown plaid shirt, and loosened them, one by one, finally pausing to pull the shirttails from his jeans. In one shrug, he slid the garment off his shoulders and tossed it aside. The t-shirt was still in place, and Blair crossed his arms over himself, grasping the fabric and slowly pulling upward, treating Jim to a full view of the flat, hair-dusted stomach as he removed the t-shirt, and stood there naked from the waist up, looking hungrily at Jim.

Next, he released his hair from the band that held it back, shaking it until it fell loosely over his shoulders. He quickly removed his socks, then slid his hands from his sides very purposefully toward the buckle of his belt, which the nimble fingers unfastened before moving to the zipper and releasing it. The jeans were slid to the floor and kicked aside.

Looking directly into Jim's eyes, Blair slid his graceful hands under the waist of his boxers, and in a languid, breath-takingly sensual manner, slid them over his hips and the swell of his buttocks and let them fall to the floor, stepping out of them and leaving them in a heap near his jeans.

Jim watched the naked vision before him move closer, the scent of Blair and Blair's arousal swirling into his senses like a hypnotic vapor. The younger man knelt at his feet and removed his shoes, then his socks, kissing the top of each foot. Jim wanted badly to pull Blair up, to get him off his knees. There was something about a subservient Blair that was as unsettling to Jim as it was mind-numbingly sexy. Blair had been forced into a subservient role for so long, Jim had never wanted to see him reduced to it again.

This Blair was not reduced to anything. He was embracing this role, choosing it, and with each delicate motion of his fingers on the buttons of Jim's shirt, he was capturing and controlling the very man he was serving. When he'd finally dispensed with shirt and t-shirt, Blair set to work at planting hot, hungry kisses on every inch of Jim's neck, shoulders and chest. Jim slid his hands into the mound of silky hair that moving about over his chest and finally down to his stomach. He encouraged Blair to look up into his eyes.

"I love you," he whispered, a little too breathless to find his whole voice. Blair just smiled, and turned his attention to unfastening Jim's belt, then carefully sliding the zipper down over the growing bulge lurking behind the pants.

"Lie back, lover," Blair commanded gently. Jim complied easily, lifting his hips so Blair could slide pants and boxers down in one fluid motion. Raising himself up on his elbows, Jim watched his lover lean back over and begin kissing his way from knee up to thigh, abandoning kisses to drag his tongue in hot little laps up the insides of both thighs.

Jim's legs spread involuntarily, and he let out a groan of pleasure mixed with tortured arousal. Blair responded by trailing the wicked tongue up to Jim's burgeoning erection, dragging it up the underside and lapping at the head. Smiling at the larger man's moans and thrusts against the mattress, Blair engulfed the head in moist, hot suction, dragging a cry of surprised pleasure out of Jim, who had slumped back flat on the bed, a willing victim of the oral assault.

"Wha--?" Jim found the strength to object when the mouth left him.

"I want you to finish in me, lover." Blair crawled up on the bed next to Jim, lying on his stomach. Jim could hear the precious heartbeat move from normal arousal to almost a panic mode. Despite Blair's best efforts, he was afraid.

"Relax, angel. Just want to make you feel good," Jim whispered, the sobering thought of how frightening this position was for Blair taking much of the urgency out of his own arousal.

Finding a small bottle of massage oil in the night stand, Jim opened it and straddled the smaller body, beginning a languid rubbing of the tense back with gentle hands. He smiled at Blair's little purr of pleasure, and the slight calming of the thundering heart. He continued the massage, rubbing the light, musk-scented oil into taut muscles, smiling as they relaxed under his hands.

"Do you know how beautiful you are, baby?" Jim asked softly, moving to Blair's lower back, but concentrating his massage safely above the swell of the other man's buttocks. A little sigh was his only answer. "Do you know how much I love you?" Jim watched a little smile curve the full lips under the veil of curls that had fallen over the side of Blair's face as he lay on the bed. "Do you know that you're my whole life?" Jim ventured a little lower, but only noticed a slight increase in Blair's excitement. The panic seemed to have faded.

Encouraged, he moved lower, carefully kneading the soft flesh of Blair's buttocks. The younger man groaned a little, and ground against the mattress.

"Raise your butt up a little for me, sweetheart?" Jim asked gently, fearful of how Blair would react to the request. He was relieved when Blair did so, with nothing more than a little groan of need.

Presented with Blair in a position Jim had only dared dream of since they'd become lovers, he capped the little bottle of oil and tossed it aside. He drew his tongue in a long path over Blair's perineum and the treasured little puckered opening to his body. Using his hands to stroke the silky skin on Blair's hips, Jim lovingly tongued Blair's entrance, ignoring his own painful need to sink himself to the hilt in the pliant body before him.

"Jim...oh, God...so good...want you...in there," Blair panted, trying to reach under himself to ease his own raging hard-on.

Jim reached for the lube, and began the task of preparing his lover. He had never really been able to watch the process this way before, with Blair open before him this way, accepting his fingers and finally thrusting down against his hand, ready for more.

"Relax, angel, it's coming. Nice and slow." After coating himself with an overly generous dose of lubricant, Jim pressed the head of his now-painful erection against Blair's center and eased inside. "I love you," he breathed, easing himself inside the tight channel much more slowly than he normally did.

Careful not to crush Blair under his greater weight, Jim supported himself on his elbows as he fit himself to his lover's back. He felt Blair straightening, and soon was lying on top of his back, only supporting very little weight on his arms now. He began to rock slowly between Blair's widespread legs, grunting his own pleasure as he fastened a combination of lips, tongue and teeth to a particularly succulent spot on Blair's neck, loving the taste of the few strands of hair that were caught in the hot, wet prison of his mouth as it left a large passion mark on soft flesh.

"Ugh...harder..." Blair encouraged, thrusting his hips back to meet Jim's strokes. Jim laced his fingers with Blair's covering the backs of the smaller hands with his palms, burying his face in the warm, fragrant hair. He picked up his pace just slightly, vowing that if any lovemaking between them ever left Blair a bit tender, it wasn't going to be this time. This time was different. There was no room for losing complete control.

He felt the telltale clenching of Blair's internal muscles, and heard the younger man's cry as he came. Jim lost a little control over himself and finished his own climax with a few rapid thrusts into the willing body beneath him.

Sweaty, panting and sated, Jim started trying to move away from Blair, to relieve the weight that pressed the other man into the mattress.

"Don't move. Please, not yet," Blair whispered. "Stay with me."

"Always, for the rest of my life, baby," Jim whispered in response, lazily kissing and licking at Blair's warm, moist neck.

"I love you, mine," Blair said softly.

"I love you too, sweetheart. That was beautiful."

"It's so good with us. And he can't scare me anymore, Jim. It's over. He can't scare me anymore."

Jim slid aside, easing out of Blair, and turned the smaller body in his arms until he held Blair tightly against him. The tremor of tears passed through Blair, and Jim responded with a tighter embrace.

"He's gone, Jim. He's gone for good. You made him go away. Made it disappear. I was so scared of this...of doing it...this way."

"I know, baby. I know. Shhhh. It's okay. I understand."

"He's finally gone. He doesn't...own that part of me anymore."

"Nobody owns any part of you, sweetheart."

"You have my heart," Blair countered in a hushed voice.

"And you have mine," Jim responded, lowering his head to capture Blair's mouth in a prolonged, love-affirming kiss.

When Blair opened his eyes, he was still in Jim's arms, only they were spoon-style now, having shifted to accommodate their need for a little shut-eye after their lovemaking. The clock on the night stand read 7:30. Their seance guests were due at 9:00. Blair sighed a little, not wanting to move from the bed, and least of all away from Jim's warmth. It was in this sleepy half-awareness that Blair was seized with an idea that he considered might be the key to dealing with Gavin's spirit.

"Jim?" Blair turned a little in the older man's embrace, and smiled as he watched the first agitated, then contented, expression spread over Jim's face.

"Is it morning yet?" he asked, lapping at Blair's ear and then down to his throat like a giant cat tending to its mate. He smiled when Blair giggled a little.

"It's 7:30. But that's not why I'm waking you. I have an..." Blair broke off, giggling again at the wandering tongue. "Jim, come on, I wanna talk to you."

"So talk."

"I can't when you..." Another giggle. "...do that."

"Okay. Fine." Jim abandoned his licking project and started nuzzling Blair's hair and neck with his nose. "God, I love the way you smell."

"I thought of something--something about Gavin."

"Talk about a mood-killer," Jim responded, pulling back a little while Blair turned over to face him.

"He's tapping into your anger and your hatred where Vince is concerned--"

"Then he's found a goldmine."

"Exactly! But think about this: Vince is dead. And as near as I can tell, he's going to stay that way. I don't think it was Vince I saw in the hall here that day--I think it was Gavin trying to freak me out. Playing a trick--a mind game. What I'm driving at is that there's no useful outlet for your hostility, as long as it's directed at Vince."

"Tell me something I don't know, Chief." Jim looked mildly annoyed, but the sight of a sex- and sleep-touseled Blair was keeping him mellow...and getting him hard again, if the spear poking Blair in the thigh while they cuddled was any indication.

"Gavin is dead, but his spirit is still here--somehow, it's still holding onto Michael, keeping him trapped. You can't help me by being angry at Vince. But you might be able to free Michael's spirit by directing that anger at Gavin. Don't let him use it. Turn it on him. Think about what he did to Michael--the same kinds of sick things Vince did to me. You couldn't rescue me any sooner than you did, but you have a chance to help rescue Michael now. Sure it's his spirit, and it's too late to save his life, but we're talking eternity here. You have to turn that anger on Gavin instead of letting him enter your psyche by tapping into it."

"Sort of like holding up a 'psychic mirror' and reflecting all the hate right back at him, huh?"

"Exactly!" Blair replied enthusiastically.

"How do I do that?"

"You told me one time that your anger at Vince was just this...this thing that ate at you all the time. If that's true, it's there now. Tune into it, but make the object of it Gavin, not Vince. Vince is dead. He's gone. Gavin is a force you can fight--a jerk that did so many of the same lousy things to Michael that Vince did to me. I'm safe now, and for the first time since I got home, I feel like I'm really healing. Like I'm really gonna be okay. Michael isn't safe. He's trapped, he's crying out for help and we can both help him."

"So every time I think a poisonous thought about Watson, it should be aimed at Gavin instead?"

"Right. Then he won't have any foothold in your anger, because it's going to be channeled toward him, not an opening for him to use."

"I'll try it." Jim lowered his head to capture Blair's neck in a vampire-like fashion. "Want you," he breathed hotly into a nearby ear.

"It's getting late," Blair objected weakly, while at the same time rolling easily onto his back and wrapping his legs around Jim's hips as the larger man loomed over him. Both men seemed to be content to rub against each other, grunting and panting at the intense friction between their bodies. Time was short, and more intense lovemaking deserved a slower pace.

Brian and Kelli Nolan arrived promptly at nine that evening with Kelli's 85-year-old grandmother in tow. The elderly Mae Devon was a tiny woman with a swirl of white hair and piercing blue eyes. She took her seat at the head of the dining room table with the authority of a ruling monarch.

A candleabra that was usually positioned on the antique buffet in the dining room had been placed in the middle of the table, filled with white candles and fully lit. Blair had followed her requests to the letter in preparing the room and the table. As soon as they were all gathered there, Mae reached over and took a hold of Blair's hand as he sat next to her. Her eyes drifted shut as if she'd felt the impact of some great power at the contact.

"You may walk easily in the world of the dead," she stated quietly. He shot a disconcerted look at Jim, who was seated across from him, with Kelli and Brian sitting across from each other next to Jim and Blair respectively. "You have a great power...a strong sensitivity to the voices of the spirit world. You had a mystical experience a few years ago...you gained entry into the other realm. The way of the Shaman has been passed to you. The power is yours."

All in the room were silent a few moments as the elderly woman appeared to be lapsing into a trance, still holding only Blair's hand.

"You have suffered great pain in this house," she began, and all were startled at the reply, which came from Blair, but not in his voice.

"The stairs," the voice stated softly.

"Michael, what happened to you on the stairs?" Mae asked, opening her eyes and staring directly into Blair's, which had taken on the greenish tint of the dead man's eyes.

"Gavin," Michael replied through Blair.

"Did Gavin push you down the stairs, Michael?" Mae asked directly. Blair slumped forward slightly and tears shook his frame.

"Yes," came the strained reply. Kelli put a restraining hand on Jim's arm as he began to rise to go to Blair.

"It isn't Blair," she whispered. "He's channeling Michael. He's okay."

"Did you die in this house, Michael?"

"Yes," came another slightly teary response, though the voice was gaining strength again. Kelli glanced over at her husband, to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he heard his best friend's grief-laden, pain-filled voice through Blair.

Suddenly, the door between the kitchen and dining room began to swing open and shut, and all the glass shattered in the doors of the china cabinet. A current of wind whipped through the room, and seemed to direct itself toward Blair.

Undaunted by Kelli's warning grasp, Jim shot up out of his chair and shouted at the unseen force.

"Gavin! You stay the hell away from him! It's over!" Jim brought both fists down on the table, and they slowly opened until he was leaning, flat palmed, on the surface of the table. Only Blair, who still appeared to be under Michael's influence, was oblivious to the battle going on between Jim and the intruding entity.

The strain in Jim's entire being was evident in the bulging cords in his neck and the taut muscles in the portion of his arms revealed by his rolled up shirt sleeves. His eyes took on an intensity and determination that would have been frightening to anyone on the wrong side of that gaze.

The candles were extinguished and the windows exploded outward, letting in a blast of fresh night air. The small chandelier over the table swayed back and forth menacingly. Jim was not distracted by Kelli's gasp or Brian's mumbled disbelief at what was happening. Whatever held Jim's unwavering stare, no one else could see. There was no doubt, however, that he could see it. All of Jim's anger and hostility toward Blair's tormentor was effectively channeled toward this entity who was the remnant of a foul man cut from the same cloth. All of his urges to kill Watson in a variety of prolonged and horrific manners came together in this battle with the invading entity. Whatever Gavin would do, he would not touch Michael/Blair in any way whatsoever.

Jim effectively dodged the plates that flew like missiles out of the china cabinet, shattering against the wall behind him. If there was power in Blair's Shaman abilities, there was a very real power in Jim's anger. Anger and hatred which had never found a proper vent until now. Rage so overwhelming that it hit the evil entity that was Gavin head on and pushed, pushed, pushed until the very foundations of the house rattled.

And then everything fell unnaturally silent.

Jim let out a long breath, and slumped back into his seat. Mae smiled, patting Blair's hand reassuringly. It was Michael who took the comfort from it.

"It's safe for you to talk to us, Michael. Gavin is gone. He can't hurt you any longer. Tell us what happened to you," she urged gently. "Did you die on the stairs, Michael?"

"Yes."

"Where is your body, dear? Let us lay you to rest in hallowed ground," she said soothingly.

"The woods. Where Gavin died."

"Why did Gavin kill himself, Michael? Was it remorse?"

"Never," he retorted, with the first trace of bitterness in his voice. "It was the sounds of the house," he concluded cryptically.

"You communicated with Gavin after your death?"

"My murder," Michael responded emphatically.

"Your murder. You haunted him?"

"I communicated with him," Michael replied a bit evasively. Then the green eyes of Michael Crandle fixed on Brian. "Feel my spirit wash over you like a waterfall," he almost whispered to the other man, before Blair slumped forward and sat there limply, with no further sign of movement.

"Blair? Can you hear me?" Mae asked softly. Slowly, Blair shook his head a little, then raised it to look at her, and around at the others at the table, and the destruction in the room. "Blair, are you back with us now?" she persisted.

"Yeah, I'm back."

"Do you remember Michael speaking through you?"

"Yes. I could hear him...like I was listening from somewhere else."

"Is he at peace now?"

"No."

"What has been left undone?" Mae asked.

"I'm supposed to talk to Brian." Blair turned his eyes to the man sitting next to him. "But it's personal."

"Should we leave?" Kelli asked.

"No. Michael wants to talk to Brian in the music room."

"That's the back bedroom on the first floor," Brian spoke up. Michael had a lot of his stuff in there--tapes, stereo, guitars." He stood up, pushing his chair back. "I'm game if you are," he said to Blair.

"Wait just a minute. Is this safe?" Jim asked Mae.

"Gavin is gone from this house. You drove him out by the sheer power of your hatred for the man who hurt Blair, and by your love for Blair."

"I was trying to channel that into negative energy toward Gavin," he responded.

"And so you did. But what made it work so smoothly was that Gavin made the ultimate mistake--he attacked Michael while he was being channeled through Blair--hence, the force that came with him--the wind--was directed toward Blair. That triggered not only all the hostility in you that you were trying to channel, but you own natural protective instincts toward Blair. The two forces together were too powerful for him to withstand."

"So can he come back at some point?" Jim asked.

"There are no absolutes in the spiritual plane, Jim. But I would be very shocked if his presence was ever felt in this house again."

"Ready?" Blair rose from his chair, speaking to Brian, who did the same.

"I've been ready for over a decade," he replied honestly.

The two men walked back to the small bedroom that was now a TV room. Brian closed the door behind them, and when he turned to look at Blair, was shocked speechless to be face to face with Michael.

"Is there anything you want to say to me?" The voice was also very distinctly Michael's. Brian stared at him a moment, then crossed the room in a couple of long strides and pulled his long-missed friend into his arms. At this moment, the body in his arms smelled and felt like Michael. It was the same body he'd held and comforted the last night of Michael's life.

"I loved you," he whispered brokenly into soft auburn hair. "God, I was so stupid. I never was with a man before and I didn't know what to do when you came along and you were everything...you were the only one. You'll always be the only one." The taller man gave in to tears, clinging to the warm, living body that for this miraculous moment in time housed the spirit of a love he'd thought was lost forever...before it had ever been voiced.

"I knew. I knew," Michael responded softly. "And I knew you weren't ready. I should have waited...but I thought we'd never be together that way." Michael clung tightly to Brian, relishing the power that Blair was giving him: the power to express himself physically one last time.

"If I let you go...you'll disappear," Brian whispered hopelessly.

"I won't disappear. I'll wait. There's a place for us in the next life, love. And I'll be there, waiting for you."

"I should have never left you that morning. God, if I hadn't, you'd still be--"

"Shhh. That won't gain us anything, looking back to the past. You did what you could for me. And I love you for it."

"Don't go. There has to be a way..." Brian pulled back and looked down into moist, clear green eyes.

"This moment is a gift. A gift from Blair, who let me come back to you, who cared enough about me to be my voice. It's a gift I can't abuse. The next time you hold me, we'll be on the other side. But you have to promise me that you're going to live, and do all the great things we dreamed about doing with the band."

"Oh, man, I can't do that. I'm in a fifth-rate 80s retro band that does glam rock shows at bars."

"You're better than that. 'Waterfall' was better than that. Make it happen, Bri--for me. For us, and what could have been. And live a long, healthy life. See the things I can't see, hear the music I can't hear, and when you come to me, bring it all with you and share it with me. Do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you. You know that." Brian lowered his head a bit hesitantly, then captured Michael's mouth in a passionate kiss. A first, last and only kiss that would have to last him a lifetime. When he pulled back, Michael was smiling. "Let me love you. Just one time. Let me make love to you."

"No. Because when it was over, you wouldn't have made love to me. You'd have violated Blair. And he doesn't deserve that. That gift isn't mine to give anymore. But you have my love, always and forever. Goodbye, love. I'll be waiting."

"No! Michael, please, don't do this! I love you! I always loved you!" It was a half sob, half shout as he grabbed Michael and shook him, only to look down and see Blair's startled face looking back at him.

"Brian, you have to do as he says. Know that he loves you. And that he's waiting."

"Why couldn't he have let me...just one time?"

"He could have. But Michael and I had an unspoken deal...a trust between us. And if you know him at all, you know Michael wouldn't betray a friend."

"No, he wouldn't," Brian responded, letting go of Blair and regaining a little of his composure.

"He knows how much you love him. And now, he's at peace. Truly at peace."

"He's really gone?"

"Yes. But his love will always be with you. And he will wait for you."

"I have to do something with 'Waterfall', for him."

"You have to do something with your life, Brian. Don't settle for that loser bar band. Michael believes in you. Make him proud. Make your success a monument to your love for him."

"Oh, God, what about Kelli?"

"Has anything really changed? You loved Michael before. You just had to live with never having had the chance to tell him. Kelli loves you, and she's your chance to have a life--a life in this world. He wants that for you, man. He doesn't want you to cry and mourn and be miserable. You've done that for ten years and it's eaten you alive, destroyed your chances for success."

"So I guess it's up to me to make something worthwhile out of this life, huh?"

"That's what he wants for you. And he'll truly sleep in peace when that happens."

"I don't know how to thank you." "You don't have to. Michael helped me recover from something I never thought I could. This whole experience brought me the rest of the way back from my own ordeal. No one could thank me more than that."

"I'm sorry I grabbed you--or kissed you."

"You kissed Michael. And he liked it," Blair added, grinning. Brian released a little chuckle at that. "Ready to go back out there now?"

"Yeah, I guess so. All these years, he's been right out there," Brian looked out the window of the small room toward the woods.

"He isn't out there anymore. Only the physical remains. Michael is finally free."

Jim was putting the last of the plastic over the gaping, glassless windows in the dining room while Blair swept up the mountains of rubble comprised of dishes and glass. The forensics team had come and gone, taking with them the meager skeletal remains of Michael Crandle, along with the two suitcases and guitar that had been buried with him as part of the plot to fake his "disappearance".

Jim had been strangely silent since their guests, and then the forensics staff, had left the two men alone together.

"Do you want to talk?" Blair asked, dumping another dust pan load of debris into a trash bag.

"About what?" Jim responded curtly.

"About what?!" Blair repeated. "Pick a subject, man. Possession, levitating dishes, seances..."

"Kissing other men."

"Oh, man, you were eavesdropping." Blair threw down the dust pan and broom and dropped into a chair.

"What the hell did you expect me to do?" Jim turned away from his completed project. "One minute you're possessed by some spirit and speaking in someone else's voice, and the next minute, you're inviting Brian down the hall for a little privacy."

"You're making this sound like I took him back there and gave him a blow job. This had nothing to do with me, man. It was--"

"I know. Michael."

"I had a choice to make. I could either fight Michael or I could help him. I've been where he was, and frankly, I wanted to help him. He deserved a chance to at least resolve all the things that were left hanging when he was murdered."

"I don't like you kissing another man. Period. I'm sorry if that makes me that throwback to the caveman days, but I still don't like it."

"If Vince had murdered me, how would you have felt?"

"That's a fucking low way to win an argument, Blair," Jim shot back sharply. Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"That's not why I'm saying it. But think about it a minute. You say you loved me before you rescued me from Vince, but you couldn't handle it. If you eavesdropped on what went on with Brian, you know that he was in the same place you were. Only Gavin killed Michael before they ever had a chance to be together. We were lucky. But only by, like, minutes. If you hadn't come for me when you did, and Vince had...had attacked me again, with my spleen rupturing, I'd have died from any more rough treatment from him. The thing is, we came that close to being Brian and Michael," Blair concluded, gesturing a minute distance between his thumb and forefinger.

"So you felt compelled to kiss him."

"He kissed Michael. I was just the means, not the spirit."

"So Michael was in control?"

"Yes. I let him...take over. I trusted him, and he respected that. He could have done anything he wanted with my body. I gave it over to him because I felt the pain from him at not being able to ever make a real connection with Brian in this lifetime. Everything...it was like watching it and hearing it from a distance. Like it was happening to someone else. And it was."

"You didn't have anything to do with it?"

"Not beyond the moment when I let Michael drive, so to speak. I trusted him. My connection with him led me through a part of my recovery I couldn't get through alone--or even with you. I had to overcome it, and conquer it, because I had to save Michael. He gave me that strength and the courage to face things that...that still terrify me. They probably always will. But not in the crippling way they did before I met Michael."

"I'm sorry I snapped your head off," Jim said tiredly, pulling out the chair closest to Blair's and plunking down on it.

"Are you okay?" Blair reached out and took Jim's hand.

"Just...worn out, I guess."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not now. Maybe not ever. Let's just say that the images of Gavin...what he was, what he was about...were everything that's ugly, malignant and evil about human nature."

"Michael drove him insane, you know," Blair said quietly.

"I kind of figured as much."

"Michael tried to never scare me. He was so subtle most of the time. I'd say something or feel something...it wasn't until he got desperate that he even started making noises or leading me to what he wanted me to know."

"He must have put on his scary routine for Gavin."

"Probably. How do you feel about staying here?"

"Bad time to ask me. Right now, I want to run out the front door with the clothes on our backs and forget this fucking nightmare once and for all."

"We can do that if you want. Well, I guess I'd like to pack first, but I mean, we can get out of here."

"I've got to admit, Chief--I don't think I could handle another head-on collision with Gavin."

"Love is stronger than hate any day of the week, man. You could do it. But if you think that would happen again here--"

"I don't know. Mae didn't think it would."

"What did he show you?" Blair placed a gentle hand on the side of Jim's face, looking into still-haunted blue eyes.

"There was a manifestation in this room that I guess no one else saw. Gavin was not an attractive spirit."

"Let's go to the motel tonight."

"No. We fought for this territory, and I'm not about to walk away from it now." Jim smiled and moved Blair's hand from his face to hold it in his hand.

"You think this place is safe to live in?"

"Yes. Mae's been in the medium business a long time. She probably knows what she's talking about. Besides, if Michael's spirit is free, and the truth is out, there's nothing more for Gavin to hang around for here." Jim paused. "I'm glad you gave Brian the chance to make contact with Michael. If I'd lost you to Watson that way, I don't think..." Jim's voice faltered, and Blair tightened his grip on Jim's hand.

"You didn't lose me. You found me."

Epilogue: Three Months Later...

Blair checked on the chicken that was baking in the oven, and went back to tearing lettuce for the salad that would go with their Saturday afternoon meal. It was a rare, relaxed day off with no special commitments, which was to be spent eating and lying in the corner watching TV and maybe fooling around a little when the spirit moved them.

"Hey, Chief," Jim greeted, coming in the back door, sorting the mail.

"Anything interesting?" Blair wiped his hands on a nearby towel.

"Just a couple things for Dr. Sandburg," Jim handed him the envelopes, smiling with obvious pride. Blair had finagled an extension after all, and had won the coveted degree in August instead of the planned May.

"Hey, this is from Brian!" Blair tore into the envelope with the hand-written address. "He got a record deal!" Blair exclaimed waving the letter. "Listen to this: 'Finally got someone to listen to the demo we made'--he's talking about his new band--you know the new line-up of guys he put together after the last one fell apart?"

"I remember," Jim responded, looking in the window of the oven at the chicken.

"Staring at it doesn't make it cook faster, man," Blair teased gently before turning his attentions back to his letter. "'Finally got someone to listen to the demo we made of "Waterfall" and "Across the Planes", and they sent someone out to see us at the club. Just like in the movies, they signed us right then and there. It's not a big label--Diamond Music--but they take good care of their acts and do a lot with promotion and artist support. It feels like things are finally taking off.' And then he goes on to update us on all the stuff going on with Kelli and a bunch of other stuff you can read if you're interested."

"I'm glad things are working out for him."

"But...?"

"I notice he's still addressing the letters just to you."

"Jim, you don't have to be jealous of this guy. It's kind of understandable he feels a bond. But I told him back at the start that I didn't want to see him or hear from him if he was coming with the expectation I was going to lapse into a trance and turn into Michael again."

"You told him that?"

"Yeah. He showed up at the campus one day, and we had a talk. He was fine after that. He just wanted to know if there was any chance he could ever talk to Michael through me again. He didn't really want to do anything physical. He wanted to run the final lyrics to 'Waterfall' by Michael. He ran them by me instead, and that was that. Since then, I've gotten just the two letters you know about. And now this one."

"I'm overreacting, right?"

"I don't know. I kind of like the whole caveman thing. Maybe you can drag me back to your cave and have your way with me." Blair flexed his eyebrows.

"After dinner, Chief. I'm starving." Jim sniffed appreciatively at the cooking smells.

"Gee, I wondered how long it would take for the fire to leave our love life." Blair laughed as he opened the rest of his mail.

"Relax, baby. The chicken's no match for you. I'd much rather nibble on your thighs any day," Jim quipped, flexing his eyebrows.

"Oh, man, I don't believe you just said that." Blair dropped his head on his folded arms for a moment and laughed. Regaining his composure, he picked up his other piece of mail. "This is interesting," he commented.

"What, sweetheart?" Jim came to stand behind the kitchen chair where Blair sat, and kissed his temple.

"Mark Borden dropped out of Rainier altogether. You know, they tossed him off the team after he got convicted on the assault charge?"

"The arrogant little shit probably needed the time to do that 200 hours of community service at the domestic violence hotline," Jim responded, chortling evilly.

"I feel sorry for Amy," Blair commented, shaking his head. Amy was the long-suffering counselor who ran the hotline, which was part of Rainier's Social Work Department. "This note is from Tom Houghton--you know, the new Dean of Students?"

"Yeah."

"Says here that Mark's leaving college, and that he was allowed to withdraw with credit for courses in progress because he left due to a doctor-certified psychological problem. This is cc'd to me--I guess they thought I had a right to know, even though he isn't in my classes this term."

"Psychological problem, huh? I know the bastard had a major attitude problem, anyway. Good riddance to him."

"You don't think..." Blair looked up at Jim. "Nah. That's a stretch."

"Is it?" Jim responded, smiling at the thought of Michael's mischievous spirit bedeviling Mark Borden.

"Well, he managed to drive Gavin off the edge," Blair replied, with something that distinctly sounded like pride in his voice. Blair had indeed forged a strange friendship with the long-dead musician who had haunted their house. "You know, I was thinking," Blair said, picking up Brian's letter again. Then he said, a bit sadly, "I still wish that Brian and Michael had had the chance we had." Blair sighed. "Their love was...intense."

"Made for each other, huh?"

"Yeah, like us." Blair grinned and leaned in to capture Jim's mouth in a prolonged kiss.

They ate burned chicken much later than planned.

End


End file.
